LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

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Shelf. ...Li * 2- 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



H. H. BOYESElsrS WRITINGS. 



GOETHE AND SCHILLER : Their Lives and 

Works, including a Commentary on Goethe's 

Faust. i2mo, §2.00. 
FALCONBERG. A Novel. Illustrated. i 2 mo> 

$1.50. 
GUNNAR. A Tale of Norse Life. Square i2mo, 

$1.25. 
TALES FROM TWO HEMISPHERES. 

Square i2mo, $1.00. 
ILKA ON THE HILL-TOP. Square iamo, 

$1.00. 
QUEEN TITANIA Square nmo, $1.00. 
IDYLS OF NORWAY, and OTHER POEMS. 

Square i2mo, $1.25. 
*** Sent fiost-j>aid, on receipt offirice, by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SON'S, Publishers. 



IDYLS OF NORWAY 



OTHER POEMS 



BY 

HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN 



• I 19 1882 • • 

NEW YORK 

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1882 



Copyright by 
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 

1882 



Trow's 

Printing and Bookbinding Company 

201-213 East -Litk Street 

NEW YORK 



> 



DEDICATION. 

TO L. K. B. 

I fain would praise thee with surpassing praise, 
To whom my soul its first allegiance gave ; 
For thou art fair as thou art wise and brave, 
And like the lily that with sweet amaze 
Rocks on its lake and spreads its golden rays 
Serenely to the sun and knows not why. 
Thou spreadst the tranquil splendor of thine eye 
Upon my heart and fills t the happy days, 
Brimmed with the fragrance and the light of thee. 

Mute was my life and chill ere thee it found ; 
Like dumbly heaving waves it rolled along 
In voiceless wrestling on a barren sea, 
Until it broke, with sudden rush of sound, 
Upon thy sumiy shore in light and song. 

H. H. B. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Dedication iii 

The Lost Hellas i 

Elegy on A. G. L, 8 

Awake, n 

The Minstrel at Castle Garden, 14 

Elegy on President Garfield 20 

IDYLS OF NORWAY. 

Brier-Rose, 25 

Hilda's Little Hood 37 

Thoralf and Synnov 44 

Little Sigrid 5° 

Marit and I, . 57 

Thora, 64 



vi CONTENTS. 

EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE, Etc. 

PAGE 

Earl Sigurd's Christmas Eve 79 

Norway 92 

The Nixy, 95 

An Every-day Tragedy, 99 

The Elf-Maidens, . 101 

NORSE STAVES. 

Introduction 109 

Stave in "Gunnar," in 

Come, Fairest Maid, . 114 

Tell Me, Ilka, . . . . . ' 116 

SONNETS. 

Juno Ludovisi 121 

Evolution, 124 

To Bayard Taylor — Dedication of a Biography of 

Goethe, 129 

The Sea, 130 

The Air, 131 



CONTENTS. . vii 

TO LILLIE. 

PAGE 

I Sat and Gazed into the Burning Sky, . . . 135 

I saw the Lily Pale and Perfect Grow, . . .136 

Within the Rose I found a Trembling Tear, . . 137 

How can I Lightly Speak thy Wondrous Name, . . 138 
An Anxious Whisper Steals unto my Ear, ... 139 

Thy Gracious Face I Greet with Glad Surprise, . . 140 

Yes, my Old Self is Dead ; and it is Well, . . . 141 

If I should Lose Thee, Darling, and Behold, . . 142 

I Saw Thee Drifting, Drifting Far Away, . . .143 

I Wonder oft why God, who is so Good, . . . 144 

CALPURNIA. 
Prelude, 147 

In the Palace of the Caesars, 149 

In the Flavian Arena, 160 

In the Catacombs of St. Calixtus, 170 



THE LOST HELLAS. 

O for a breath of myrtle and of bay, 

And glints of sunny skies through dark leaves flash- 
ing, 

And dimpling seas beneath a golden day, 

Against the strand with soft susurrus plashing ! 

And fair nude youths, with shouts and laughter 
dashing 

Along the shining beach in martial play ! 

And rearing 'gainst the sky their snowy portals, 

The temples of the glorious Immortals ! 

Thus oft thou risest, Hellas, from my soul — 
A vision of the happy vernal ages, 
When men first strove to read life's mystic scroll, 
But with the torch of joy lit up its pages ; 
When with untroubled front the cheerful sages 
Serenely wandered toward their shadowy goal, 



2 THE LOST HELLAS, 

And praised the gods in dance of stately measure, 
And stooped to pluck the harmless bud of pleas- 
ure. 

Out of the darkness of the primal night, 
Like as a dewy Delos from the ocean, 
Thy glory rose — a birthplace for the bright 
Sun-god of thought. And freedom, high devo- 
tion, 
And song, sprung from the fount of pure emotion, 
Bloomed in the footsteps of the God of light. 
And Night shrank back before the joyous paean, 
And flushed with morning rolled the blue iEgean. 

Then on Olympus reigned a beauteous throng : 
The heavens' wide arch by wrathful Zeus was 

shaken ; 
Fair Phcebus sped his radiant path along, 
The darkling earth from happy sleep to waken ; 
And wept when by the timorous nymph forsaken, 
His passion breathing in complaining song ; 
And kindled in the bard the sacred fire, 
And lured sweet music from the silent lyre. 



THE LOST HELLAS. 3 

Then teemed the earth with creatures glad and fair ; 
A calm, benignant god dwelt in each river, 
And through the rippling stream a naiad's bare 
White limbs would upward faintly flash and quiver ; 
Through prisoning bark the dryad's sigh would 

shiver, 
Expiring softly on the languorous air ; 
And strange low notes, that scarce the blunt sense 

seizes, 
Were zephyr voices whispering in the breezes. 

Chaste Artemis, who guides the lunar car, 
The pale nocturnal vigils ever keeping, 
Sped through the silent space from star to star ; 
And, blushing, stooped to kiss Endymion sleeping. 
And Psyche, on the lonely mountain weeping, 
Was clasped to Eros' heart and wandered far 
To brave dread Cerberus and the Stygian water, 
With that sweet, dauntless trust her love had taught 
her. 

On Nature's ample, warmly throbbing breast, 
Both god and man and beast reposed securely ; 



4 THE LOST HELLAS. 

And in one large embrace she closely pressed 
The sum of being, myriad-shaped but surely 
The self-same life ; she saw the soul rise purely 
Forever upward in its groping quest 
For nobler forms ; and knew in all creation 
The same divinely passionate pulsation. 

Thus rose the legends fair, which faintly light 
The misty centuries with their pallid glimmer, 
Of fauns who roam on Mount Cithairon's height, 
Where through the leaves their sunburnt faces 

shimmer ; 
And in cool copses, where the day is dimmer, 
You hear the trampling of their herded flight ; 
And see the tree-tops wave their progress after, 
And hear their shouts of wild, immortal laughter. 

The vast and foaming life, the fierce desire 
Which pulses hotly through the veins of Nature — 
Creative rapture and the breath of fire 
Which in exalting blight and slay the creature ; 
The forces seething 'neath each placid feature 
Of Nature's visage which our awe inspire — 



THE LOST HELLAS. 5 

All glow and throb with fervid hope and gladness 
In Dionysus and his sacred madness. 

Each year the lovely god with vine-wreathed brow 
In dreamy transport roves the young earth over ; 
The faun that gayly swings the thyrsus bough, 
The nymph chased hotly by her satyr lover, 
The roguish Cupids 'mid the flowers that hover — 
All join his clamorous train, and upward now 
Sweep storms of voices through the heavens sonorous 
With gusts of song and dithyrambic chorus. 

But where great Nature guards her secret soul, 
Where viewless fountains hum in sylvan closes, 
There, leaned against a rugged oak-tree's bole, 
Amid the rustling sedges, Pan reposes. 
And round about the slumberous sunshine dozes, 
While from his pastoral pipe rise sounds of dole ; 
And through the stillness in the forest reigning, 
One hears afar the shrill, sad notes complaining. 

Thus, in the olden time, while yet the world 
A vale of joy was, and a lovely wonder, 



6 THE LOST HELLAS. 

Men plucked the bud within its calyx curled, 
Revered the still, sweet life that slept there- 
under ; 
They did not tear the delicate thing asunder 
To see its beauty wantonly unfurled, — 
They sat at Nature's feet with awed emotion, 
Like children listening to the mighty ocean. 

And thus they nobly grew to perfect bloom, 
With gaze unclouded, in serene endeavor. 
No fever-vision from beyond the tomb 
Broke o'er their bright and sunlit pathway ever. 
For gently as a kiss came Death to sever 
From spirit flesh, and to the realm of gloom 
The pallid shades with fearless brow descended 
To Hades, by the winged god attended. 

Why sorrow, then, — w T ith vain petitions seek 

The lofty gods in their abodes eternal ? 

To live is pleasant, and to be a Greek : 

To see the earth in garments fresh and vernal ; 

To w T atch the fair youths in their sports diurnal, 

To feel against your own a maid's warm cheek, 



THE LOST HELLAS. 7 

To see from sculptured shrines the smoke ascending, 
And with the clouds and ether vaguely blending. 

And sweet it is to hear the noble tongue, 
Pure Attic Greek with soft precision spoken ! 
And ah ! to hear its liquid music flung, 
In rocking chords and melodies unbroken, 
From Homer's stormy harp — the deathless token 
That Hellas' Titan soul is strong and young — 
Young as the spring that's past, whose name as- 
suages 
The gloom and sorrow of the sunless ages. 

Her fanes are shattered and her bards are dead, 
But, like a flame from ruins, leaps her glory 
Up from her sacred dust, its rays to shed 
On alien skies of art and song and story. 
Her spirit, rising from her temples hoary, 
Through barren climes dispersed, has northward 

fled; 
As, though the flower be dead, its breath may hover, 
A homeless fragrance sweet, the meadows over. 



ELEGY ON A. G. L. 

(December 15, 1876.) 
I. 

I stood at morn, amid tempestuous strife 

Of wintry winds, and saw or seemed to see, 

All like a dim and cruel pageantry, 

Thy gentle presence pass from out my life. 

And voices wild and strange rose to the skies, — 

The sounds of dolorous greetings, tear-choked sighs 

Rang like a quivering echo through my soul, 

And back into my solitude I stole ; 

For then the measure of my grief was rife. 

They say, sweet friend, that in that realm enchanted 

Where thou hast fled, — upon that unknown shore, 

Amid unfading day thy life is planted 

To bloom in health and joy forevermore. 

But ah, the very thought is fraught with dread ; 

To me, sweet friend, to me thou still art dead ! 



ELEGY ON A. G. L. 



II. 



At thy deserted chamber long I stood, 

What time the wintry daylight westward waned. 

There desolation chill, relentless reigned, 

And thronging memories the pang renewed. 

For all bore here the impress of thy thought,— 

A subtle fragrance from thy being caught. 

For evermore some essence fugitive 

Of thy young voice will linger here and live 

About this frame, — these sprigs of briar-wood. 

Ah, tell me not then, other friends are left ! 

It gives but keenness to the sting of grief ; 

For sadder than all else to hearts bereft 

Is the cold vision of time's sure relief. 

To-day, O friend, I rather would foresee 

A life of sorrow consecrate to thee ! 

in. 

Thine was a spirit, tender, rich, and rare, 
And purer than the stainless Northland snow ; 
Still womanly, whose sympathetic glow 
Ennobled all that breathed its finer air. 



io ELEGY ON A. G. L. 

To me — alas ! what thou hast been to me 

I cannot tell thee now, though mournfully 

I ponder on the riddles dark that meet 

My gaze where'er I turn. Thy presence sweet 

Still through long years of vigil I may share. 

For if from that enchanted spirit-land 

Thy healthful thought into my soul may shine 

(E'en though thy voice be still, and cold thy hand), 

To lift my life and make it pure as thine ; 

Then, though thy place on earth a void must be, 

Beloved friend, thou art not dead to me ! 



AWAKE ! 

Wake, my beloved, the young day is treading, 
Blushing and fair, over forest and lake, 

Flowering life in its footsteps outspreading — ■ 
Wake, my beloved, awake ! 

Break the dull sleep ; while love's spring-time is 
dawning, 

Let us drink deep of its fleeting delight ! 
Under our feet at this moment is yawning 

Dark, the compassionless night. 

Love, with its turbulent, mighty pulsation, ' 

Thrills through my veins like a quickening heat ; 

All my young life with its strong aspiration, 
All have I thrown at thy feet. 

If the wild visions of glory should blind me, 
Reach me thy hand, lest I stumble and fall ; 



12 AWAKE/ 

Darkness before me, and darkness behind me, 
Thou art my life and my all. 

Sweet 'tis to breathe in the balm of thy presence, 
Sweeter to feel the warm gaze of thine eye, 

While the fleet moments with bright effervescence 
Whisper their gladness and die. 

Then in the depths of my soul as in slumber, 
Hear I great voices of world-shaking deeds, 

And the pale day, with its cares without number, 
Far from my vision recedes. 

Ere I had seen thee, how tardily flowing 

Stole from my breast the faint notes of my 
song ; 

Now, like spring freshets, their gates overthrowing, 
Roll the strong torrents along. 

Pale was my life, and the white mists above me 
Dimmed to my sight the soft splendor of May ; 

Now, but a glimpse of the hope that you love me 
Lights and illumines my way. 



AWAKE/ 



13 



Darkling I stood ; and tumultuous fancies 

Surged through my soul like black billows of 
night ; 

Now the wide future, in sun-lit expanses, 
Radiant bursts on my sight. 

Dost thou not see the dawn's beckoning finger, 
How the young light, like a full-swelling tide, 

Breaks through its flood-gates ? Oh, why dost thou 
linger ? 
Wake, my beloved, my bride ! 



THE MINSTREL AT CASTLE GARDEN. 

Hark, whence come those strange vibrations, 
whence that haunting monotone, 

Like a mournful voice in darkness, crooning softly 
and alone, 

Breathing melancholy whispers that might move a 
heart of stone ? 

What lone soul, surcharged with sorrow, voices here 

its w T eird lament, — 
Here where Europe's eager exiles, still with hope 

and strength unspent, 
Throng beneath the wide-flung portals of this 

mighty continent ? 

Hark ! methinks that in the music of that gently 

murmured strain 
I detect a Norseland cadence, trembling through its 

sad refrain, — 



THE MINSTREL AT CASTLE GARDEN. 15 

Something wild and vague, awaking strange re- 
sponses in my brain. 

Ah, behold, there sits the minstrel high above the 

surging throng, 
On a heap of chests and boxes, playing dreamily 

along, 
Luring back his vanished Norseland by the tone's 

enchantment strong ! 

Well I know those guileless features, mirroring the 

childlike soul, 
And those patient eyes and placid, that disguise nor 

joy nor dole, 
And the sturdy, rough-hewn figure, rugged like a 

fir-tree's bole. 

In his violin whose hollow chambers plaintively re- 
sound 

Is a hushed metallic tremor — shadow voices, felt not 
found, 

By the louder human bustle to the blunter senses 
drowned. 



1 6 THE MINSTREL AT CASTLE GARDEN. 

How they gently stir within me buried chords that 

long were mute ; 
And dim memories, awaking, quiver with a life acute, 
Of my youth, with its ideals and the long and vain 

pursuit ! 

God, the judge, the stern and loving, dwelt among 

my childhood's hills, 
And his voice was in the thunder and his whisper in 

the rills ; 
Visibly his hand extended in my little joys and ills. 

And his eye, so large and placid, kept its watch be- 
hind the cloud ; 

Saw that all went right in Norway ; cheered the 
humble, awed the proud ; 

And amid the forest stillness oft, methought, he 
spoke aloud. 

Avalanches, hail, and lightning sped the message of 
his wrath ; 

He destroyed and he relented, spreading like a heal- 
ing bath 



THE MINSTREL AT CASTLE GARDEN. 17 

Sun and rain to raise the harvest in the devastation's 
path. 

Rude, perhaps, though not ignoble, was that calm 
and simple life, 

Blooming in idyllic quiet and with hope and prom- 
ise rife, 

Sheltered safe from vexing problems and from 
thought's harassing strife. 

Hush, the minstrel's mood is changing! He has 
bade the old farewell ! 

From his sight has Norway faded, w T ith the moun- 
tain-guarded dell 

And the legend-haunted forests where the elves and 
nixies dwell. 

Through a maze of wildering discords— presto and 

prestissimo, — 
Runs the bow — a wild legato rocking madly to and 

fro, 

As if wrestled in the music, hope and longing, joy 

and w r oe. 
2 



1 8 THE MINSTREL AT CASTLE GARDEN. 

Joy has triumphed ! See how broadens life beyond 

this moment's bar ! 
How the future brightens, beckons, wide, refulgent, 

star on star ; 
And the prairies' rolling harvest glimmers faintly 

from afar. 

Blindly hast thou come, O minstrel, like a youth of 
old renowned, 

Who his father's asses seeking, by good chance a 
kingdom found ; 

Awed, I ween, and wonder-stricken, standing scep- 
tred, robed, and crowned. 

Thus shalt thou, who bread art seeking, conquer 
boons undreamed, unsought ; 

Thou shalt learn to doubt and suffer ; lose thy peace 
so cheaply bought ; 

Souls grow strong and blossom only on the battle- 
field of thought. 

Thine shall be the larger knowledge which the dar- 
ing age has won ; 



THE MINSTREL AT CASTLE GARDEN. 19 

Thou shalt face the truth, unquailing, though thy 

faith be all undone. 
Bats may blink in dusky corners ; eagles gaze upon 

the sun. 

Creeds may vanish, thrones may totter, empires 

crumble in decay ; 
But the ancient God of Battles is the God of strife 

alway ; 
Who shall bless his foe that wrestles bravely until 

dawn of day. 



ELEGY ON PRESIDENT GARFIELD. 

Yea, he is dead whom in its heart the nation 
Through anxious summer vigils sadly bore, 
And powerless are tears and supplication 
To bring our chieftain back forevermore. 
The darkness swept him to the shadowy shore, 
Where echoes not our voice of lamentation; 
In vain the tolling bells ring dirges o'er him, 
And nations mourn, united, and deplore him. 

How nobly met he, and with heart unquailing, 
In stalwart manhood's prime, his bitter doom ; 
And bravely fought, with faith and cheer unfailing, 
The weary fight through endless days of gloom. 
Nay, e'en w T ithin the shadow of the tomb, 
While slowly ebbed his strength and life-blood 

paling, 
His smile lit up the night that deepened round him, 
And gentle, fearless, calm, Death's angel found him. 



ELEGY ON PRESIDENT GARFIELD, 21 

And how, with breathless hope and spirit shaken, 
The nation watched beside its martyr's bed, 
And saw his life's flame flutter and awaken , 
With fitful flicker, ere it upward sped. 
Though absent, we beheld his fallen head, 
Yet by its manly beauty unforsaken, 
By dolor wasted, and his eye grow dimmer, 
Until the gloom engulfed its last faint glimmer. 

His was a vigorous soul, of ampler vision 
Than those who blindly grope in honor's quest. 
Unnurtured by Europe's worn tradition, 
He sprang, puissant, from the virgin West, 
And, suckled at a noble mother's breast, 
He drank our soil's stern manhood and ambition, 
And rose from humble toil to hights of splen- 
dor, 
His country's pride and hope and her defender. 

Alas ! the dart of Death, with cruel fleetness, 
Found his great heart, for he was foully slain. 
Yet his career was grand. Its incompleteness 
Gives it a larger mission and domain ; 



22 ELEGY ON PRESIDENT GARFIELD. 

For vainly he lives not, nor dies in vain, 
Whose life is full of valor, light, and sweetness, 
And at whose bier a sundered people gather, 
To weep as for a common friend and father. 



IDYLS OF NORWAY. 



BRIER-ROSE. 



Said Brier-Rose's mother to the naughty Brier-Rose : 

" What will become of you, my child, the Lord Al- 
mighty knows. 

You will not scrub the kettles, and you will not 
touch the broom ; 

You never sit a minute still at spinning-wheel or 

loom." 



Thus grumbled in the morning, and grumbled late 

at eve, 
The good-wife as she bustled with pot and tray and 

sieve ; 
But Brier-Rose, she laughed and she cocked her 

dainty head : 
"Why, I shall marry, Mother dear," full merrily she 

said. 



26 BRIER-ROSE. 

" You marry, saucy Brier-Rose ! The man, he is not 

found 
To marry such a worthless wench, these seven 

leagues around." 
But Brier- Rose, she laughed and she trilled a merry 

lay : 
"Perhaps he'll come, my Mother dear, from eight 

leagues away." 

The good- wife with a " humph " and a sigh forsook 
the battle, 

And flung her pots and pails about with much vin- 
dictive rattle : 

"O Lord, what sin did I commit in youthful days, 
and w T ild, 

That thou hast punished me in age with such a 
wayward child ? " 



Up stole the girl on tiptoe, so that none her step 
could hear, 

And laughing pressed an airy kiss behind the good- 
wife's ear. 



BRIER-ROSE. 27 

And she, as e'er relenting, sighed : " Oh, Heaven 
only knows 

Whatever will become of you, my naughty Brier- 
Rose ! " 



The sun was high and summer sounds were teeming 
in the air ; 

The clank of scythes, the cricket's whir, and swell- 
ing wood-notes rare, 

From field and copse and meadow ; and through the 
open door 

Sweet, fragrant whiffs of new-mown hay the idle 
breezes bore. 



Then Brier-Rose grew pensive, like a bird of 

thoughtful mien, 
Whose little life has problems among the branches 

green. 
She heard the river brawling where the tide was 

swift and strong, 
She heard the summer singing its strange, alluring 

song. 



28 BRIER-ROSE. 

And out she skipped the meadows o'er and gazed 
into the sky ; 

Her heart o'er brimmed with gladness, she scarce 
herself knew why, 

And to a merry tune she hummed, " Oh, Heaven 
only knows 

Whatever will become of the naughty Brier- 
Rose ! " 



Whene'er a thrifty matron this idle maid es- 
pied, 

She shook her head in warning, and scarce her wrath 
could hide ; 

For girls were made for housewives, for spinning- 
wheel and loom, 

And not to drink the sunshine and w T ild-flower's 
sweet perfume. 

And oft the maidens cried, when the Brier-Rose 

went by : 
" You cannot knit a stocking, and you cannot make 

a pie." 



BRIER-ROSE. 29 

But Brier-Rose, as was her wont, she cocked her 

curly head : 
" But I can sing a pretty song," full merrily she 

said. 



And oft the young lads shouted, when they saw the 

maid at play : 
" Ho, good-for-nothing Brier-Rose, how do you do 

to-day ? " 
Then she shook her tiny fist ; to her cheeks the 

color flew : 
" However much you coax me, I'll never dance with 

you ! " 

IT. 

Thus flew the years light-winged over Brier- Rose's 

head, 
Till she w T as twenty summers old and yet remained 

unwed. 
And all the parish wondered : " The Lord Almighty 

knows 
Whatever will become of that naughty Brier-Rose ! " 



30 BRIER-ROSE. 

And while they wondered came the Spring a-dan- 
cing o'er the hills ; 

Her breath was warmer than of yore, and all the 
mountain rills, 

With their tinkling and their rippling and their 
rushing, filled the air, 

And the misty sounds of water forth-welling every- 
where. 



And in the valley's depth, like a lusty beast of prey, 
The river leaped and roared aloud and tossed its 

mane of spray; 
Then hushed again its voice to a softly plashing croon, 
As dark it rolled beneath the sun and white beneath 

the moon. 



It was a merry sight to see the lumber as it whirled 
Adown the tawny eddies that hissed and seethed and 

swirled, 
Now shooting through the rapids and, with a reeling 

swing, 
Into the foam-crests diving like an animated thing. 



BRIER-ROSE. 31 

But in the narrows of the rocks, where o'er a steep 

incline 
The waters plunged, and wreathed in foam the 

boughs of birch and pine, 
The lads kept watch with shout and song, and sent 

each straggling beam 
A-spinning down the rapids, lest it should lock the 

stream. 

in. 

And yet — methinks I hear it now — wild voices in 
the night, 

A rush of feet, a dog's harsh bark, a torch's flaring- 
light, 

And wandering gusts of dampness, and 'round us 
far and nigh, 

A throbbing boom of water like a pulse-beat in the sky. 



The dawn just pierced the pallid east with spears of 

gold and red, 
As we, with boat-hooks in our hands, toward the 

narrows sped. 



32 BRIER-ROSE. 

And terror smote us : for we heard the mighty tree- 
tops sway, 

And thunder, as of chariots, and hissing showers of 
spray. 

"Now, lads," the sheriff shouted, "you are strong, 

like Norway's rock : 
A hundred crowns I give to him who breaks the 

lumber-lock ! 
For if another hour go by, the angry waters' 

spoil 
Our homes will be, and fields, and our weary years 

of toil." 



We looked each at the other ; each hoped his neigh- 
bor would 

Brave death and danger for his home, as valiant 
Norsemen should. 

But at our feet the brawling tide expanded like a 
lake, 

And whirling beams came shooting on, and made 
the firm rock quake. 



BRIER-ROSE. 33 

" Two hundred crowns ! " the sheriff cried, and 

breathless stood the crowd. 
" Two hundred crowns, my bonny lads ! " in anxious 

tones and loud. 
But not a man came forward, and no one spoke or 

stirred, 
And nothing save the thunder of the cataract was 

heard. 



But as with trembling hands and with fainting 

hearts we stood, 
We spied a little curly head emerging from the 

wood. 
We heard a little snatch of a merry little song, 
And saw the dainty Brier-Rose come dancing 

through the throng. 



An angry murmur rose from the people 'round 

about. 
" Fling her into the river ! " we heard the matrons 

shout ; 
3 



34 BRIER- ROSE. 

" Chase her away, the silly thing ; for God himself 

scarce knows 
Why ever he created that worthless Brier-Rose." 



Sweet Brier-Rose, she heard their cries ; a little 
pensive smile 

Across her visage flitted that might a stone be- 
guile ; 

And then she gave her pretty head a roguish little 
cock : 

" Hand me a boat-hook, lads," she said; "I think 
I'll break the lock." 



Derisive shouts of laughter broke from throats of 

young and old : 
" Ho ! good-for-nothing Brier-Rose, your tongue 

was ever bold." 
And, mockingly, a boat-hook into her hands was 

flung, 
When, lo ! into the river's midst with daring leaps 

she sprung ! 



BRIER-ROSE. 35 

We saw her dimly through a mist of dense and 

blinding spray ; 
From beam to beam she skipped, like a water-sprite 

at play. 
And now and then faint gleams we caught of color 

through the mist : 
A crimson waist, a golden head, a little dainty 

wrist. 



In terror pressed the people to the margin of the 

hill, 
A hundred breaths were bated, a hundred hearts 

stood still. 
For, hark ! from out the rapids came a strange and 

creaking sound, 
And then a crash of thunder which shook the very 

ground. 

The waters hurled the lumber mass down o'er the 

rocky steep. 
We heard a muffled rumbling and a rolling in the 

deep; 



36 BRIER-ROSE. 

We saw a tiny form which the torrent swiftly bore 
And flung into the wild abyss, where it was seen no 
more. 

Ah, little naughty Brier-Rose, thou couldst nor 

weave nor spin ; 
Yet thou couldst do a nobler deed than all thy 

mocking kin ; 
For thou hadst courage e'en to die, and by thy death 

to save 
A thousand farms and lives from the fury of the 

wave. 

And yet the adage lives, in the valley of thy birth, 

When wayward children spend their days in heed- 
less play and mirth, 

Their mothers say, half smiling, half sighing, " Heav- 
en knows 

Whatever will become of the naughty Brier- Rose ! " 



HILDA'S LITTLE HOOD. 

In sooth I have forgotten, for it is long ago, 

And winters twelve have hid it beneath their 

shrouds of snow ; 
And 'tisn't well, the parson says, o'er bygone things 

to brood, 
But, sure, it was the strangest tale, this tale of 

Hilda's hood. 



For Hilda was a merry maid, and wild as wild could 

be, 
Among the parish maidens was none so fair as 

she ; 
Her eyes they shone with wilful mirth, and like a 

golden flood 
Her sunny hair rolled downward from her little 

scarlet hood. 



38 HILDA'S LITTLE HOOD. 

I once was out a-fishing, and, though sturdy at the 

oar, 
My arms were growing weaker, and I was far from 

shore ; 
And angry squalls swept thickly from out the lurid 

skies, 
And every landmark that I knew was hidden from 

mine eyes. 

The gull's shrill shriek above me, the sea's strong 

bass beneath, 
The numbness grew upon me with its chilling touch 

of death,— 
And blackness gathered round me ; then through 

the night's dark shroud 
A clear young voice came swiftly as an arrow cleaves 

the cloud. 



It was a voice so mellow, so bright and warm and 

round, 
As if a beam of sunshine had been melted into 

sound ; 



HILDA'S LITTLE HOOD. 39 

It fell upon my frozen nerves and thawed the 

springs of life ; 
I grasped the oar and strove afresh ; it was a bitter 

strife. 



The breakers roared about me, but the song took 

bolder flight, 
And rose above the darkness like a beacon in the 

night ; 
And swift I steered and safely, struck shore, and by 

God's rood, 
Through gloom and spray I caught the gleam of 

Hilda's scarlet hood. 



The moon athwart the darkness broke a broad and 

misty way, 
The dawm grew red beyond the sea and sent abroad 

the day ; 
And loud I prayed to God above to help me, if He 

could, 
For deep into my soul had pierced that gleam from 

Hilda's hood. 



4 o HILDA'S LITTLE HOOD. 

I sought her in the forest, I sought her on the 

strand, 
The pine-trees spread their dusky roof, bleak lay 

the glittering sand, 
Until one Sabbath morning at the parish church I 

stood, 
And saw, amid a throng of maids, the little scarlet 

hood. 



Then straight my heart ran riot, and wild my pulses 
flew ; 

I strove in vain my flutter and my blushes to sub- 
due ; 

"Why, Eric!" laughed a roguish maid, "your 
cheeks are red as blood ; " 

"It is the shine, ,, another cried, "from Hilda's 
scarlet hood." 



I answered not, for 'tis not safe to banter with a 

girl ; 
The trees, the church, the belfry danced about me 

in a whirl : 



HILDAS LITTLE HOOD. 41 

I was as dizzy as a moth that flutters round the 

flame ; 
I turned about, and twirled my cap, but could not 

speak for shame. 



But that same Sabbath ev'ning, as I sauntered o'er 

the beach 
And cursed that foolish heart of mine for choking 

up my speech, 
I spied, half wrapped in shadow at the margin of 

the wood, 
The wavy mass of sunshine that broke from Hilda's 

hood. 



With quickened breath on tiptoe across the sand I 

stepped ; 
Her face was hidden in her lap, as though she mused 

or slept ; 
The hood had glided backward o'er the hair that 

downward rolled, 
Like some large petal of a flower upon a stream of 

gold. 



42 HILDAS LITTLE HOOD. 

" Fair Hilda," so I whispered, as I bended to her 

ear ; 
She started up and smiled at me without surprise or 

fear. 
" I love you, Hilda," said I ; then in whispers more 

subdued : 
" Love me again, or wear no more that little scarlet 

hood." 



"Why, Eric," cried she, laughing, " how can you 

talk so wild ? 
I was confirmed last Easter, half maid and half a 

child, 
But since you are so stubborn — no, no ; I never 

could — 
Unless you guess what's written in my little scarlet 

hood." 



" I cannot, fairest Hilda," quoth I with mournful 
mien, 

While with my hand I gently, and by the maid un- 
seen, 



HILDA'S LITTLE HOOD, 43 

Snatched from the clustering wavelets the brightly- 
flaming thing, 

And saw naught there but stitches small, crosswise 
meandering. 

u There's nothing in your hood, love," I cried with 

heedless mirth. 
"Well," laughed she, "out of nothing God made 

both heaven and earth ; 
But since the earth to you and me as heritage was 

given, 
I'll only try to make for you a little bit of heaven." 



THORALF AND SYNNOV. 

O, have you been in Gudbrand's dale, where Laag- 

en's mighty flood 
Chants evermore its wild refrain unto the listening 

wood ? 
And have you seen the evening sun on those bright 

glaciers glow, 
When valleyward it shoots and darts like shafts 

from elfin bow ? 

Have you beheld the maidens when the saeter* 
path they tread 

With ribbons in their sunny hair and milk -pails on 
their head ? 

And have you heard the fiddles when they strike 
the lusty dance ? 

Then you have heard of Synnov Houg, and of my- 
self perchance. 



* The soeter is the region in highlands where the Norwegian peas- 
ants spend the greater part of the summer, pasturing their cattle. 



THORALF AND SYNNOV. 45 

For Synnov Houg is lissome as the limber willow 

spray, 
And when you think you hold her fast, and she is 

yours for aye, 
Then like the airy blowball that dances o'er the lea, 
She gently through your fingers slips and lightly 

floateth free. 

Then it was last St John's Eve, — I remember it so 

well, — 
We lads had lit a bonfire in a grass-grown little dell ; 
And all the pretty maidens were seated in a ring, 
And some were telling stories, while the rest were 

listening ; 

Till up sprang little Synnov, and she sang a stave 

as clear 
As the skylark's earliest greeting in the morning of 

the year ; 
And I — I hardly knew myself, but up they saw me 

dart, 
For every note of Synnov's stave went straight 

unto my heart. 



46 THORALF AND SYNNOV. 

And like the rushing currents that from the glaciers 

flow, 
And down into the sunny bays their icy waters 

throw, 
So streamed my heavy bass-notes through the forests 

far and wide, 
And Synnov's treble rocked like a feather on the 

tide. 

" My little Synnov," sang I, " thou art good and 

very fair." 
" And little Thoralf," sang she, " of what you say, 

beware ! " 
"My fairest Synnov," quoth I, "my heart was ever 

thine, 
My homestead and my goodly farm, my herds of 

lowing kine." 

" O Thoralf, dearest Thoralf, if that your meaning be — 
If your big heart can hold such a little thing as me, 
Then I shall truly tell you if e'er I want a man, 
And — you are free to catch me, handsome Thoralf 
— if you can ! " 



THORALF AND SYNNOV. 47 

And down the hillside ran she, where the tangled 

thicket weaves 
A closely latticed bower with its intertwining 

leaves, 
And through the copse she bounded, light-footed as 

a hare, 
And with her merry laughter rang the forest far and 

near. 

Whenever I beheld little Synnov, all that year, 

She fled from my sight as from hunter's shaft the 

deer ; 
I lay awake full half the nights and knew not what 

to do, 
For I loved the little Synnov so tenderly and true. 

Then 'twas a summer even up in the 'birchen 

glen, 
I sat listening to the cuckoo and the twitter of the 

wren, 
When suddenly above me rang out a silver voice ; 
It rose above the twittering birds and o'er the river's 

noise. 



48 THORALF AND SYNNOV. 

There sat my little maid, where the rocks had made 

a seat ; 
And tiny crimson flowers grew all around her feet, 
And on her yellow locks clung a tiny roguish hood ; 
Its edge was made of swan's-down, but the cloth was 

red as blood. 

And noiselessly behind her I had stolen through the 
copse. 

I cursed the restless birch-trees for rustling in their 
tops ; 

How merrily my heart beat ! And forth I leapt in 
haste, 

And flung a slender birch-bough around the maid- 
en's waist. 

She blushed and she fluttered, — then turned away 

to run, 
But straight into my sturdy arms I caught the little 

one. 
I put her gently down on the heather at my side, 
Where tiny crimson flowers the rocky ledges 

hide. 



THORALF AND SYNNOV. 49 

And as the prisoned birdling, when he knows his 

cage full well, 
Pours forth his notes full blithely, and naught his 

mirth can quell, 
To little Synnov, striving in vain my hold to flee, 
Turned quick on me her roguish eyes and laughed 

full heartily. 

"My little Synnov," said I, " if I remember right, 
'Twas something that you promised me a year ago 

to-night." 
Then straight she stayed her laughter and serious 

she grew, 
And whispered : " Dearest Thoralf, you promised 

something too." 

4 



LITTLE SIGRID. 

Little Sigrid, fresh and rosy, was a bonny maid 

indeed, 
Like a blossom fair and fragile, peeping from the 

dewy mead. 

Little Sigrid, fresh and rosy, stood before her father 

bold; 
Blue her eyes were as the heavens, bright her hair 

as marigold : 

" Father dear, 'tis drear and lonely for a maid as fair 

as I, 
Here, unsought by gallant wooers, as a maid to live 

and die. 

" Saddle then thy fleetest chargers, whether good or 

ill betide, 
For a twelvemonth I must leave thee, and in haste 

to court will ride." 



LITTLE SIGRID. 51 

So they saddled steed and palfrey ; glad in heart 

young Sigrid rode, 
By her merry train attended, to the gallant king's 

abode. 

" Little Sigrid," so the king spake, "here by Christ 
the white I swear, 

Never yet mine eyes have rested on a maid so won- 
drous fair." 

Little Sigrid, laughing gaily at the young king as 

he swore, 
Blushed the while a deeper crimson than she e'er 

had blushed before. 

Flushed with joy each day ascended from the sea 

and westward waned, 
And in little Sigrid's bosom happiness and gladness 

reigned ; 

For she rode w r ith knights and ladies to the chase at 

peep of morn, 
While the merry woods resounded with the blare of 

fife and horn. 



52 LITTLE SIGRID. 

And the night was bright with splendor, music, 
dance, and feast and play, 

Like a golden trail that follows in the wake of part- 
ing day. 

Quoth the king to little Sigrid, — hot was he with 

wine and glee : 
"I do love thee, little Sigrid ; thou must e'er abide 

with me." 

And the foolish little Sigrid to the king made an- 
swer so : 

" I'll abide with thee and love thee, share thy joy 
and share thy woe." 

"And the day," the gay king whispered, "that to 

thee I break my troth, 
May'st thou claim my soul, my life-blood, to appease 

God's righteous wrath." 

And long days, from eastward rising, sank in blood 

beneath the west, 
And the maid, once merry-hearted, bore a secret 

'neath her breast. 



LITTLE SIGRID. 53 

" Hast not heard the merry tidings — how the king, 

whom weal betide, 
Rode abroad through seven kingdoms, rode abroad 

to seek a bride ? — 

" How in baking and in brewing they more malt 

and meal have spent, 
Than from Michaelmas to Christmas well might 

feed a continent ?" 

Sigrid heard the merry tidings; with a tearless, 

dimmed amaze 
She beheld the young bride coming, saw the halls 

with lights ablaze, 

And with hurried steps and breathless to the river- 
bank she sped, 

Leaped into the silent billows, closing dumbly o'er 
her head. 

Winter blew his icy breath and silvered all the earth 

with frost : 
Spring arose warm-cheeked and blushing, followed 

by his flowery host, 



54 LITTLE SIGRID. 

And Sir Alfred, Sigrid's brother, straight bestrode 

his charger gray, — 
Harp in hand, wild ditties singing, rode he to the 

court away. 

Far and wide renowned that harp was for its strength 

and rich design ; 
It was wrought with strange devices from the earth 

and air and brine. 



But the seventh night the weary charger at the 

river's side 
Stumbled, and the harp fell moaning down upon the 

darkling tide. 

And the soul of little Sigrid, wandering homeless, 
seeking rest,* 

Slipped into its hollow chamber, hiding in its sound- 
ing breast. 



* It is a very prevalent superstition in Norway, and in many other 
countries, that the soul continues to haunt the place where the body 
rests, unless it is buried in consecrated ground. 



LITTLE SIGRLD. 55 

But Sir Alfred clasped it fiercely, and its tone rose 

on the breeze 
Like the voice of one that vainly would his wakeful 

woe appease. 

And the king, with court assembled, heard the w^eird 

lamenting tone : 
u Summon swift that goodly harper to the threshold 

of my throne." 

Then they summoned young Sir Alfred ; fair to see 
and tall was he, 

As he stood with head uplifted in that gallant com- 
pany. 

And he touched the harp with cunning ; gently rose 

its tuneful breath. 
But the king sat mute and shivered, and his cheeks 

were pale as death. 

Alfred smote the harp with fervor ; wildly rang its 

wail of grief — 
On his throne the young king quivered, — quivered 

like an aspen leaf. 



56 LITTLE SIGRID. 

As the third time o'er the metal with a wary touch 

he sped 
Snapt each string with loud resounding — on his 

throne the king lay dead. 

Through the courtiers' ranks a shuddering, terror- 
haunted whisper stole : 

" It is little Sigrid coming back to claim his faithless 
soul." 



MARIT AND I. 

Marit at the brook-side sitting, rosy, dimpled, 

merry-eyed, 
Saw her lovely visage trembling in the mirror of the 

tide, 
While between her pretty teeth a golden coil of hair 

she held ; 
Like a shining snake it quivered in the tide, and 

shrunk and swelled. 

And she dipped her dainty fingers deftly in the 

chilly brook ; 
Scarce she minded how her image with the ripples 

curved and shook ; 
Stooping, with a tiny shudder dashed the water in 

her face ; 
O'er her brow and cheeks the dew-drops glistening 

rolled and fell apace. 



58 MARIT AND I. 

Breathless sat I, safely hidden in the tree-top dense 
and green ; 

For a maid is ne'er so sweet as when she thinks her- 
self unseen ; 

And I saw her with a scarlet ribbon tie her braid of 
hair, 

And I swore a silent oath I ne'er had seen a thing 
more fair. 



Now, if you will never breathe it, I will tell you 
something queer — 

Only step a little nearer ; let me whisper in your 
ear : 

If you think it was the first time that in this seques- 
tered dell 

I beheld the little Marit — well, 'tis scarcely fair to 
tell. 



There within my leafy bower sat I, happy as a 

king, 
And two anxious wrens were flitting round about me 

twittering, 



MARIT AND I. 59 

While I gazed at Marit's image framed in heaven's 

eternal blue, 
While the clouds were drifting past it, and the birds 

across it flew. 



But anon the smile that hovered in the water stole 

away, 
Though the sunshine through the birch-leaves flung 

of light its shimmering spray, 
And a breath came floating upward as if some one 

gently sighed, 
And at just the self-same moment sighed the image 

in the tide. 



Then I heard a mournful whisper : " O thou poor,- 

thou pretty face, 
Without gold w 7 hat will avail thee bloom of beauty, 

youth, and grace ? 
For a maid who has no dower — " and her curly head 

she shook : 
It was little Marit speaking to her image in the 

brook. 



6o MARIT AND I. 

More I heard not, for the whisper in a shivering 
sigh expired, 

And the image in the water looked so sad and sweet 
and tired. 

Full of love and full of pity, down I stooped her 
plaint to hear : 

I could almost touch the ringlets curling archly- 
round her ear. 

Nearer, still a little nearer, forth I crept along the 

bough. 
Tremblingly her lips were moving, and a cloud rose 

on her brow. 
" Precious darling," thought I, "grieve not that 

thou hast no lover found — " 
Crash the branch went, and, bewildered, down I 

tumbled on the ground. 

Up then sprang the little Marit with a cry of wild 

alarm, 
And she gazed as if she dreaded I had come to do 

her harm. 



MARIT AND I. 61 

Swift she darted through the bushes, and with stu- 
pid wonder mute 

Stood I staring blankly after, ere I started in 
pursuit. 

And a merry chase I gave her through the under- 
brush and copse ; 

Over fallen trunks and bowlders, on she fled with 
skips and hops, 

Glancing sharply o'er her shoulder when she heard 
my footsteps' sound, 

Dashing" on with reckless terror like a deer before 
the hound. 



Hot with zeal I broke my pathway where the clus- 
tered boughs were dense, 

For I wanted to assure her I intended no of- 
fence ; 

And at last, exhausted, fell she on the greensward 
quivering, 

Sobbing, panting, pleading, weeping, like a wild 
unreasoning- thino- 



62 MARIT AND L 

" Marit," said I, stooping down, " I hardly see why 

you should cry : 
There is scarce in all the parish such a harmless lad 

as I ; 
And you know I always liked you " — here my voice 

was soft and low. 
"No, indeed," she sobbed, in answer— " no, indeed, 

I do not know." 

But methought that in her voice there was a toiich 

of petulance ; 
Through the glistening tears I caught a little shy 

and furtive glance. 
Growing bolder then, I clasped her dainty hand full 

tenderly, 
Though it made a mock exertion, struggling faintly 

to be free. - 



"Little Marit," said I, gently, "tell me what has 

grieved you so, 
For I heard you sighing sorely at the brook a while 

ago." 



MAR IT AND I. 63 

"Oh," she said, her sobs subduing, with an air de- 
mure and meek — 

"Oh, it was that naughty kitten ; he had scratched 
me on the cheek." 



" Nothing worse ?" I answered, gayly, while I strove 
her glance to catch. 

" Let me look ; my kiss is healing. May I cure the 
kitten's scratch ? " 

And I kissed the burning blushes on her cheeks in 
heedless glee, 

Though the marks of Pussy's scratches were invisi- 
ble to me. 



" O thou poor, thou pretty darling," cried I, frantic 

with delight, 
While she gazed upon me smiling, yet with eyes that 

tears made bright, 
" Let thy beauty be thy dower, and be mine to have 

and hold ; 
For a face as sweet as thou hast needs, in sooth, no 

frame of gold. " 



THORA. 



Trim and graceful, like a clipper, Thora was from 

top to toe, 
Though her dress was very scanty and perhaps not 

comme il faut. 
Bare and brown her little feet were, and her cheeks 

were sun-burnt too ; 
But her lips were very rosy and her eyes were very 

blue. 

One black skirt with red embroidery and a snowy 

white chemise 
Were her wonted dress on week-days, when she felt 

herself at ease. 
Hats she only wore in winter, when with snow the 

air was dim, 
But her eyes peeped forth full brightly 'neath the 

big sou'wester's brim. 



THORA. 6$ 

For who thinks that a sou'wester, e'en if e'er and 

e'er so wide, 
From the boys' admiring glances could a pretty 

maiden hide ? 
And 'tis known how such attention every pretty 

maid annoys ; 
And it was a thousand pities, Thora did not like the 

boys. 

They were either rude and noisy, or too bashful and 

confused. 
As for loving them ! No, thank you ; she would 

rather be excused ! 
And, besides, there were so many, stout and slender, 

short and tall ; 
How could she her choice determine, since she 

could not love them all ? 



Thus she spoke unto her mother, sitting in the even- 
ing's glow 

In the shadow of the fish-nets, which were drooping, 
row on row, 
5 



66 THORA. 

From their stakes ; while to the westward hung the 
sun so huge and red, 

Tinged with flame the white-winged sea-birds, drift- 
ing idly o'er her head. 

" Sooth to say, thy words are canny," said the good- 
wife with a sigh, 

Glancing seaward to conceal the merry twinkle in 
her eye. 

" Yet 'tis right young girls should marry; childless 
age brings no maid boon ; 

Beauty gone, in vain they hanker, fretting idly for 
the moon. 



" Therefore I will tell thee, daughter, what 'tis wise 

for thee to do ; 
One maid, e'en if e'er so canny, never knows as 

much as two. 
We will call the girls together from the valley's 

every part ; 
They shall choose among thy wooers him who is to 

own thy heart." 



THORA. 67 

" O, what sport!" cried pretty Thora ; " thanks to 

thee, my mother dear ; 
O, how gayly we shall chatter when no prying men 

are near. 
Loved and cherished shall my name be by the 

maidens round about ; 
I shall cause no cheeks to wither and no pretty lips 

to pout." 



While the mountain-tops were rosy and with dew 
the grass w T as wet, 

Thora hastened to the boat-house to repair the fish- 
ing-net. 

Skipping, jumping, wild and wanton, danced she 
o'er the fields away, 

Tossing to the sportive echoes many a bright and 
careless lay. 

When the lads who boats were bailing heard the 

pretty Thora sing, 
Joining hands they ran to meet her, throwing round 

the maid a ring. 



68 THORA. 

"Noav," they cried, with boist'rous laughter, "now 

we've surely caught thee, Miss : 
Thou canst only buy thy freedom if thou give us 

each a kiss." 



Come and take it, lads," said Thora ; "here's my 
mouth and here's my hand. 

Kiss, indeed ! Why don't you take it ? Modest, 
sooth, is your demand." 

And when one stepped briskly forward, half embold- 
ened by her speech, 

With a slap she sent him spinning, like a top, upon 
the beach. 



With a peal of mocking laughter off she bounded 

like a hind, 
And her loosened yellow tresses fluttered wildly in 

the w^ind ; 
While the lad, abashed, bewildered, strolled away, 

with burning ears, 
To compose his wounded feelings and avoid his 

comrades' jeers. 



THORA. 69 

Now a gallant lad was Halvor, who in storm and 

billows' roar 
Oft had steered his skiff securely close beneath the 

rocky shore ; 
And the thought within him rankled with a dull and 

gnawing pain, 
That a little maid had smote him whom he could 

not smite again. 

And the roguish face of Thora haunted him by night 

and day ; 
Half he feared that he must love her ; for his wrath 

had flown away. 
Yet he could have cursed his folly, had not cursing 

been a sin ; 
Why should he thus love a maiden who was neither 

kith nor kin ? 



Strange to say, the little Thora, when her anger was 

at rest, 
Found some queer, soft thoughts awaking dimly in 

her troubled breast. 



70 THORA. 

Had she not too harshly punished an offence not 

rudely meant ? 
Could she hope for God's forgiveness who could 

rashly thus resent ? 

As for kissing, that was foolish — that's, of course, be- 
fore a throng ; 

Yet, in Scripture, people did it, so it scarcely could 
be wrong. 

Had he only been discreeter — met her 'neath the 
sinking sun — 

Well — in sooth — there is no knowing what she 
might not then have done. 



Thus with doubt and passion battling, and by vague 
regrets distraught, 

Shyly nursing tender yearnings which she dared not 
frame in thought, 

On the beach alone she w T andered, where in whis- 
pered pulses beat, 

Drunk with sleep, the mighty ocean, heaving darkly 
at her feet. 



THORA. 71 

Then it seemed — what odd illusion ! — that her foot- 
steps on the sand 

Broke into a double rhythm, sharply echoing o'er 
the strand, 

And she felt a shadowy presence in the moonlight, 
gaunt and dread, 

Moving stealthily behind her, and she dared not 
turn her head. 



Swiftly, wildly, on she hurried, and the cloud and 

moon and star 
With a dumb phantasmal ardor sped along th' 

horizon's bar ; 
Till exhausted, panting, sobbing, and bewildered 

with alarm, 
Prone she fell, but up was lifted lightly on her 

lover's arm. 



"Thora," said he, stooping o'er her, " pardon if I 

caused thee fright ; 
But my heart was full to bursting — speak I must 

and speak to-night. 



72 THORA. 

Silence, Thora, is so heavy, like a load upon the 

breast. . 
Sooth, I think thou hast bewitched me — I can find 

nor peace nor rest." 

Thora half-way stayed her weeping, and the moon, 
who peeped askance 

From behind her cloud, revealed the tearful bright- 
ness of her glance. 

" Oh, thou wouldst not love me," sobbed she, "if 
thou knew'st how bad I am. 

Once — I hung — a great live lobster — on the tail of — 
Hans — our ram." 



Scarce I know how he consoled her, but ere long 

her tears were dried, 
And 'twas rumored in the parish, though again it 

was denied, 
That while all the moon w T as hidden — all except the 

golden tips — 
There w T as heard a sound mysterious, as of softly 

meeting lips. . 



THORA. 



73 



For the good-wife, mildly grumbling at the idle 
spinning-wheel, 

Rose at length and trudged sedately, anxious for the 
daughter's weal, 

Over stone and sand and tangle, where the fright- 
ened plovers flew 

Screaming seaward, and majestic skyward soared the 
silent mew. 

And 'twas she who with amazement heard the soft, 

mysterious sound, 
And 'tis said she shook and tottered, almost fainting 

on the ground. 
Scarce her reason she recovered, if the wild report 

be true, 
For she saw a queer-shaped figure which proved 

later to be two. 



" Daughter," said she, not ungently, " I have sought 
thee in alarm, 

Fearing, in the treacherous nloonlight, thou per- 
chance hadst come to harm ; 



74 THORA. 

Yet I hoped that I should find thee, though the night 
be dark and drear, 

Knowing that thou lov'st to wander where no pry- 
ing men are near." 

Dumb, abashed stood little Thora, and her cheeks 
were flaming red ; 

Nervously she twirled her apron, and she hung her 
pretty head ; 

Till at length she gathered courage and she whis- 
pered breathlessly : 

" Mother dear — I love him — truly, and he says — that 
he loves me." 



"Lord ha' mercy on us, daughter!" solemnly the 
dame replied. 

(l l who have the maids invited that thy choice they 
might decide ; 

For of men there are so many, stout and slender, 
short and tall — 

How's a maid to choose among them, since she can- 
not love them all ? " 



THORA. 75 

Now, the moon, who had been hiding in a veil of 

misty lace, 
Wishing to embarrass no one by the shining of her 

face, 
Peeped again, in modest wonder, ere her cloud she 

gently broke, 
And she saw the good-wife smiling as to Thora thus 

she spoke : 

" Since thou now hast chosen, daughter — every bird 

must try his wings — 
Tell me, how didst thou discover that thy heart to 

Halvor clings ? " 
"Well," she said, in sweet confusion, while her eyes 

grew big wdth tears, 
" Thou wouldst scarcely — understand it — mother 

dear — I boxed his ears." 



• EARL SIGURD'S 
CHRISTMAS EVE., Etc. 



EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 

i. 
Earl Sigurd, he rides o'er the foam-crested brine, 
And he heeds not the billowy brawl, 
For he yearns to behold gentle Swanwhite, the 

maid 
Who abides in Sir Burislav's hall. 

" Earl Sigurd, the viking, he comes, he is near ! 
Earl Sigurd, the scourge of the sea ; 
Among the wild rovers who dwell on the deep, 
There is none that is dreaded as he. 

" Oh, hie ye, ye maidens, and hide where ye can, 

Ere the clang of his war-ax ye hear, 

For the wolf of the woods has more pity than 

he, 
And his heart is as grim as his spear." 



80 EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 

Thus ran the dread tidings, from castle to hut, 
Through the length of Sir Burislav's land, 
As they spied the red pennon unfurled to the breeze, 
And the galleys that steered for the strand. 

ii. 

But with menacing brow, looming high in his prow 
Stood Earl Sigurd, and fair to behold 
Was his bright, yellow hair, as it waved in the air, 
'Neath the glittering helmet of gold. 

" Up, my comrades, and stand with your broad- 
swords in hand, 

For the war is great Odin's delight ; 

And the Thunderer * proud, how he laughs in his 
cloud 

When the Norsemen prepare for the fight ! " 

And the light galleys bore the fierce crew to the 

shore, 
And naught good did their coming forebcde, 
And a wail rose on high to the storm-riven sky 
As to Burislav's castle they strode. 



* The god Thor, the Norse god of war. 



EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 81 

Then the stout-hearted men of Sir Burislav's train 
To the gate-way came thronging full fast, 
And the battle-blade rang with a murderous clang, 
Borne aloft on the wings of the blast. 

And they hewed and they thrust, till each man bit 

the dust, 
Their fierce valor availing them naught. 
But the Thunderer proud, how he laughed in his 

cloud, 
When he saw how the Norsemen had fought ! 

Then came Burislav forth ; to the men of the 

North 
Thus in quivering accents spake he : 
" O, ye warriors, name me the ransom ye claim, 
Or in gold, or in robes, or in fee." 

"Oh, what reck I thy gold?" quoth Earl Sigurd, 

the bold ; 
" Has not Thor laid it all in my hand ? 
Give me Swanwhite, the fair, and by Balder I swear 
I shall never revisit thy land. 



82 EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 

" For my vengeance speeds fast, and I come like 

the blast 
Of the night o'er the billowy brine ; 
I forget not thy scorn and thy laugh on that morn 
When I wooed me the maid that was mine. ,, 

Then the chief, sore afraid, brought the lily-white 

maid 
To the edge of the blood-sprinkled field, 
And they bore her aloft o'er the sward of the croft 
On the vault of the glittering shield. 

But amain in their path, in a whirlwind of wrath 
Came young Harold, Sir Burislav's son ; 
With a great voice he cried, while the echoes re- 
plied : 
" Lo, my vengeance, it cometh anon ! " 

TIL 

" Hark ye, Norsemen, hear great tidings : Odin, 

Thor, and Frey are dead, 
And white Christ, the strong and gentle, standeth 

peace-crowned in their stead. 



EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 83 

Lo, the blood-stained day of vengeance to the an- 
cient night is hurled, 

And the dawn of Christ is beaming blessings o'er 
the new-born w T orld. 



" See the Cross in splendor gleaming far and wide 
o'er pine-clad heath, 

While the flaming blade of battle slumbers in its 
golden sheath. 

And before the lowly Savior, e'en the rider of the 
sea, 

Sigurd, tamer of the billow, he hath bent the stub- 
born knee." 



Now at Yule-tide sat he feasting on the shore of 
Drontheim fiord, 

And his stalwart swains about him w T atched the bid- 
ding of their lord. 

Huge his strength was, but his visage, it was mild 
and fair to see ; 

Ne'er old Norway, heroes' mother, bore a mightier 
son than he. 



84 EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 

With her maids sat gentle Swanwhite 'neath a roof 

of gleaming shields, 
As the rarer lily blossoms 'mid the green herbs of 

the fields ; 
To and fro their merry words flew lightly through 

the torch-lit room, 
Like a shuttle deftly skipping through the mazes of 

the loom. 



And the scalds with nimble fingers o'er the sound- 
ing harp-strings swept ; 

Now the strain in laughter rippled, now with hid- 
den woe it wept, 

For they sang of Time's beginning, ere the sun the 
day brought forth — 

Sang as sing the ocean breezes through the pine- 
woods of the North. 



Bolder beat the breasts of Norsemen — when amid 

the tuneful din 
Open sprang the heavy hall-doors, and a stranger 

entered in. 



EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 85 

Tall his growth, though low he bended o'er a twisted 
staff of oak, 

And his stalwart shage was folded in a dun, un- 
seemly cloak. 



Straight the Earl his voice uplifted : " Hail to thee, 

my guest austere ! 
Drain with me this cup of welcome : thou shalt 

share our Yule-tide cheer. 
Thou shalt sit next to my high-seat * e'en though 

lowly be thy birth, 
For to-night our Lord, the Savior, came a stranger 

to his earth." 



Up then rose the gentle Swanwhite, and her eyes 

with fear grew bright ; 
Down the dusky hall she drifted, as a shadow drifts 

by night. 



* The high-seat (accent on first syllable), the Icelandic kasaeto, was 
the seat reserved for the master of the house. It was situated in the 
middle of the north wall, facing south. 



86 EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 

" If my lord would hold me worthy," low she spake, 

" then grant me leave 
To abide between the stranger and my lord, this 

Christmas eve." 



" Strange, O guest, is women's counsel, still their 
folly is the staff 

Upon which our wisdom leaneth," and he laughed a 
burly laugh ; 

Lifted up her lissome body with a husband's tender 
pride, 

Kissed her brow, and placed her gently in the high- 
seat at his side. 



But the guest stood pale and quivered, where the 

red flames roofward rose, 
And he clenched the brimming goblet in his fingers, 

fierce and close, 
Then he spake: "All hail, Earl Sigurd, mightiest 

of the Norsemen, hail ! 
Ere I name to thee my tidings, I will taste thy flesh 

and ale." 



EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 87 

Quoth the merry Earl with fervor: " Courteous is 
thy speech and free : 

While thy worn soul thou refreshest, I will sing a 
song to thee ; 

For beneath that dusky garment thou mayst hide a 
hero's heart, 

And my hand, though stiff, hath scarcely yet un- 
learned the singer's art." 

Then the arms so tightly folded round his neck the 

Earl unclasped, 
And his heart was stirred within him as the silvern 

strings he grasped, 
But with eyes of meek entreaty, closely to his side 

she clung, 
While his mighty soul rose upward on the billows 

of the song. 

For he sang, in tones impassioned, of the death of 

iEsir * bright, 
Sang the song of Christ the glorious, who was born 

a babe to-night, 

* JEsir is the collective name for all the Scandinavian gods. 



88 EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 

How the hosts of heaven victorious joined the an- 
them of his birth, 

Of the kings the starlight guided from the far lands 
of the earth. 

And anon, with bodeful glamour fraught, the hurry- 
ing strain sped on, 

As he sang the law of vengeance and the wrath for- 
ever gone, 

Sang of gods with murder sated, who had laid the 
fair earth waste, 

Who had whetted swords of Norsemen, plunged 
them into Norsemen's breast. 



But he shook a shower of music, rippling from the 
silver strings, 

And bright visions rose of angels and of fair and 
shining things 

As he sang of heaven's rejoicing at the mild and 
bloodless reign 

Of the gentle Christ who bringeth peace and good- 
will unto men ! 



EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 89 

But the guest sat dumb arid hearkened, staring at 

the brimming bowl, 
While the lay with mighty wing-beats swept the 

darkness of his soul. 
For the Christ who w r orketh wonders as of old, so 

e'en to-day 
Sent his angel downward gliding on the ladder of 

the lay. 

As the host his song had ended with a last resound- 
ing twang, 

And within the harp's dumb chambers murmurous 
echoes faintly rang, 

Up then sprang the guest, and straightway down- 
ward rolled his garment dun — 

There stood Harold, the avenger, Burislav's un- 
daunted son. 



High he loomed above the feasters in the torch-light 

dim and weird, 
From his eyes hot tears were streaming, sparkling 

in his tawny beard ; 



9 o EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 

Shining in his sea-blue mantle stood he 'mid that 
wondering throng, 

And each maiden thought him fairest, and each war- 
rior vowed him strong. 



Swift he bared his blade of battle, flung it quivering 
on the board : 

" Lo ! " he cried, " I came to bid thee baleful greet- 
ing with my sword ; 

Thou hast dulled the edge that never shrank from 
battle's fiercest test — 

Now I come, as comes a brother, swordless unto 
brother's breast. 



"With three hundred men I landed in the gloam- 
ing at thy shore — 

Dost thou hear their axes clanking on their shields 
without thy door ? 

But a yearning woke within me my sweet sister's 
voice to hear, 

To behold her face and whisper words of warning 
in her ear. 



EARL SIGURD'S CHRISTMAS EVE. 91 

"But I knew not of the new-born king, who holds 
the earth in sway, 

And whose voice like fragrance blended in the soar- 
ings of thy lay. 

This my vengeance now, O brother : foes as friends 
shall hands unite ; 

Teach me, thou, the wondrous tidings, and the law 
of Christ the white." 



Touched as by an angel's glory, strangely shone 
Earl Sigurd's face, 

As he locked his foe, his brother, in a brotherly em- 
brace ; 

And each warrior upward leaping, swung his horn 
with gold bedight : 

" Hail to Sigurd, hail to Harold, three times hail to 
Christ the white ! " 



NORWAY. 

Winter has its icy crown 

Pressed round Norway's temples hoary ; 
Midnight's sun has showered down 

On her head its glory. 

Time's swift waves their power broke 
'Gainst her ancient rocks and bowlders ; 

And the sea its misty cloak 
Flung around her shoulders. 

But when easeful Summer sinks 

O'er the gleaming fiords and valleys, 

Bursts the wood-lake's wintry links 
And the lily's chalice — 

Oh, what throbbing life aglow ! 

Oh, how fair the birch and willow, 
And the gulls that drift like snow 

O'er the rippling billow ! 



NORWAY. 

Giant-like the glacier looms, 

Seaward throws its branches mazy ; 

And on Winter's bosom blooms 
Fearlessly the daisy. 

Lo ! the wild, bright peaks that shine 
Through the clouds that veil their bosom, 

At whose foot, 'mid birch and pine, 
Fragile lilies blossom ! 

Here it was where Frithjof gay 

Wooed King Bele's fair-haired daughter ; 
Here she sang the sweet, sad lay 

Which her love had taught her. 

Hence those vikings sprung whose sword 
Waked the South from idle dalliance ; 

Who in Vineland's rivers moored 
Dauntlessly their galleons. 

Now, alas ! that age hath fled, 

Fled the spirit that upbore it. 
Ah, but still doth midnight shed 

Flaming splendor o'er it. 



93 



94 NO £ WAY. 

And the fame which curbed the sea, 
Spanned the sky with runes of fire, 

Now but rustles tremblingly 
Through the poet's lyre. 



THE NIXY* 

She sat at the opened window, 
And mused o'er an old romance ; 

And the glorious peal of the legend 
Still held her soul in its trance. 

And her heart was thronged with yearnings 
That cried for utterance. 

The world seemed so pale and dreary, 

A vain and inglorious play ; 
The thundering heroes of old time 

Had left it to fade and decay ; 
The radiant soul had departed 

And left the inanimate clay. 



*The Nixy (Necken), according to Norse superstition, is a male 
sprite who lives in the rivers and roaring cataracts, through whose 
brawl the alluring music of his harp is often heard. He frequently 
beguiles young maidens by his wondrous melodies, in which his long- 
ing for human love and fellowship is expressed. 



96 THE N1XY. 

She closed the dear book of her heroes, 
And down from her tower she sped, 

Where the shivering leaves of the birches 
A lingering glamour spread. 

Strange murmurs stole through the forest, 
Strange voices of warning and dread. 

She stood at the brink of the river, 
And heard the loud waters fall ; 

Now rising with deafening thunder, 
And wrestling with clamorous brawl ; 

Now breathing a quivering whisper 
Adown o'er the rocky wall. 

Anon o'er the darksome waters 
The shadows of midnight brood, 

And the ghosts of a thousand legends 
Flit through the shuddering wood ; 

But still at the brink of the river 
The maiden, wondering, stood. 

There was a strong soul in the waters, 
A soul grand, noble, and free — 



THE NIXY. 97 

For the yawning abysses panted 

With tremulous ecstasy — 
Which rose with a misty fulness, 

Then burst into melody. 

And hushed was the night-wind's murmur, 
And hushed seemed the cataract's roll, 

While clear and airily trembling 
The tones through the forest stole. 

They came like familiar voices, 
That soothe the unrest of the soul. 

The hopes her young heart had cherished, 

The dreams of the days gone by, 
The yearnings that throbbed in her bosom, 

Deep-hidden from mortal eye, 
Had gained a voice in the music, 

And joyfully rose to the sky. 

A tenderly luring sadness 

Abode in the mellow tone. 
Ah, there was love and solace 

For a life that was drear and lone ! 

7 



9 8 THE NIXY. 

A leap in the dark, a brief flutter, — 
And darkly the waves hurried on. 

Two men at morn sought the river ; 

And lo ! to the tree-roots clung 
The form of a lifeless maiden, 

So wondrously fair and young. 
"'Twas the Nixy," they said, "who allured her, 

Beguiling her heart with his song." 



AN EVERY-DAY TRAGEDY. 

He sat in honor's seat, 
And rapturous ladies gazed into his eyes. 
She stood without, beneath the wintry skies, 

In snow and sleet. 

He spoke of Faith's decay ; 
The ladies sighed because he spoke so true. 
She hid her face in hands frost-numbed and blue, 

But dared not pray. 

In church, in court, and street, 
Men bowed and ladies smiled where'er he went. 
She stole through life, by shame and hunger bent, 

With bleeding feet. 

Upon his w T edding-day 
She stood, with burning eyes that fain would weep, 
And heard the dancers' tread, the music's sweep, 

Sound far away. 



ioo AN EVERY- DAY TRAGEDY. 

The bride so pure and true 
He took untq himself in haughty mood ; 
And all the paltry world applauding stood, 

Though well it knew; 

The while in frost and snow 
Half-clad she stood upon whose maiden breast 
He pledged his faith, for love's supremest test, 

In joy and w T oe. 



THE ELF-MAIDENS. 

i. 
And it was young Sir Hermod, in scarlet clad and 

gold, 
Rode forth to woo fair Ragna, the maid of Kirtley 

Wold. 

Swift through the castle-gate rang the hoof-beat of 
his steed ; 

Then struck with muffled rhythm o'er the green- 
sward of the mead. 

Now, hie thee, young Sir Hermod, nor pause, nor 

look askance, 
For 'neath the misty summer moon the elf-maidens 

dance. 

And like a dream they drift o'er the silvery lakes of 

wheat, 
The slender ears scarce dip 'neath the pressure of 

their feet. 



102 THE ELF-MAIDENS. 

They lightly sway and rock in their undulating 

flight, 
With gleams of dimpling limbs and of bosoms of 

delight. 

Now from the grove they float, and across the mea- 
dow's floor, 

Scarce nod the drooping blue-bells when brush their 
garments o'er. 

And from beneath the mist-veils that flutter in the 
dance 

Grave, yearning eyes flash forth with a tender radi- 
ance. 

O help thee God, Sir Hermod ! Now spur thy 

goodly steed, 
And list not to those sighs and the luring tones that 

plead. 

Gaze not on snowy bosoms that in the moon's pale 

beam 
Weave subtle charms, and strangely with lustrous 

dimness gleam. 



THE ELF-MAIDENS. 103 

That hand upon thy shoulder, so slender, soft and 

white, 
Is Death's cold hand, outstretched thy fair youth 

and strength to blight. 

Those soft, alluring voices that hover thee 

around, 
Delicious, languid, vague, like a poppy's breath in 

sound, 

Would lull thy soul full gently, amid the forest's 

gloom, 
Into a sleep more dread than the slumber of the 

tomb. 

Those locks that faintly glimmer — a maze of tawny 

gold- 
Would tangle thee full swiftly in meshes mani- 
fold. 

Those lips that blush so warmly beneath the moon's 

dim light 
Would blot from out thy soul the dear name of 

Christ the white. 



io 4 THE ELF-MAIDENS. 

Then hie thee, young Sir Hermod, nor pause nor 
look askance, 

Where 'neath the misty summer moon the elf-maid- 
ens dance. 

ii. 

The winds that sang in tree-tops, and hummed the 
rose new-blown 

Sweet airy tales, now swelled to a wild and won- 
drous moan. 

Weird clouds with horrid faces, with fierce and 

breathless haste, 
And sable arms extended, across the heavens 

chased. 

The lily maid, fair Ragna, stood on the castle's 

height, 
And watched the clouds and listened to the voices 

of the night. 

She listened to the clang of swift hoof-beats from 

afar ; 
She heard the drowsy warden the heavy gate unbar. 



THE ELF-MAIDENS. 105 

And down the winding stairway with winged steps 

she flew — 
The world was filled with music and all things fairer 

grew. 

She cried her eager welcome to the knight who rigid 

sat ; 
Nor stirred he in the saddle, nor raised his crested 

hat. 

Then with a dread foreboding across the court she 

sped ; 
She seized Sir Hermod's hand — but the hand was 

cold and dead. 

She started back and tottered, but grasped the 

bridle's ring : 
"Woe ! Thou hast heard, beloved, the elf-maidens 

sing. 

" Now comfort Christ thy spirit, bestead in evil 

chance, 
For thou hast seen at even-tide the elf-maidens 

dance." 



NORSE STAVES. 



INTRODUCTION. 

Where under the pine-clothed mountain-side 
The glittering fiord lies dreaming, — 

Where the sunlight plays with the sparkling tide, 
From the distant glaciers beaming, — 

Where the midnight sun pours its flaming gold 

O'er the Yokul's airy steeple, 
There lingers an echo from Saga old 

In the hearts of the Norseland people. 

At the wedding-feast, when the home-brewed ale 

Has made its round of the table, 
And the healthful mirth of a jocund tale 

Shakes the house from cellar to gable, 

Then waketh again what hath slumbered so long, — 

The fire of the ancient Saga ; 
And the Norseman's heart flows over in song, 

As of old, at the goblet of Braga. 



io INTRODUCTION. 

Full oft then a youth leaps forth from the crowd 
'Mid the. dance and the music and laughter, — 

Leaps forth with a shout so free and loud 
That it rings from rafter to rafter, — 

And calleth a maiden out of the throng, 
And round them the revellers and dancers 

Are hushed, while his heart pours forth its song, 
And the heart of the maiden answers. 



STAVE IN "GUNNAR." 

He. There standeth a birch in the lightsome lea — 

She. In the lightsome lea ; 

He. So fair she stands in the sunlight free — 

She. In the sunlight free. 

Both. So fair she stands in the sunlight free. 

She. High up on the mountain there standeth a 

pine — 
He. There standeth a pine ; 
She. So stanchly grown and so tall and fine — 
He. So tall and fine. 
Both. So stanchly grown and so tall and fine. 

He. A maiden I know as fair as the day — 

She. As fair as the *day ; 

He. She shines like the birch in the sunlight's play — 

She. In the sunlight's play. 

Both. She shines like the birch in the sunlight's play. 



ii2 STAVE IN " GUNNAR." 

She. I know a lad in the spring's glad light — 

He. In the spring's glad light ; 

She. Far-seen as the pine on the mountain-height — 

He. On the mountain-height. 

Both. Far-seen as the pine on the mountain-height. 

He. So bright and blue are the starry skies — 

She. The starry skies ; 

He. But brighter and bluer that maiden's eyes — 

She. That maiden's eyes. 

Both. But brighter and bluer that maiden's eyes. 

She. And his have a depth like the fiord I know — 

He. The fiord I know ; 

She. Wherein the heavens their beauty show — 

He. Their beauty show. 

Both. Wherein the heavens their beauty show. 

He. The birds each morn seek the forest glade — 

She. The forest glade ; 

He. So flock my thoughts to that lovely maid — 

She. That lovely maid. 

Both. So flock my thoughts to that lovely maid. 



STAVE IN " GUNNAR." 113 

She. The moss, it clingeth so fast to the stone — 

He. So fast to the stone ; 

She. So clingeth my soul to him alone — 

He. To him alone. 

Both. So clingeth my soul to him alone. 

He. Each brook sings its song, but forever the same — 

She. Forever the same ; 

He. Forever my heart sings that maiden's name — 

She. That maiden's name. 

Both. Forever my heart sings that maiden's name. 

She. The plover hath but an only tone — 

He. An only tone ; 

She. My life hath its love, and its love alone — 

He. Its love alone. 

Both. My life hath its love, and its love alone. 

He. The rivers all to the fiord they go — 

She. To the fiord they go ; 

He. So may our lives then together flow — 

She. Together flow. 

Both. So may our lives then together flow. 



COME, FAIREST MAID. 

He. " Come, fairest maid, tread the dance with me ; 

O heigh ho ! " 
She. "So gladly tread I the dance with thee ; 

O heigh ho ! " 
He. Like brier-roses thy red cheeks blush ; 
She. And thine are rough like the thorny bush. 
Both. An' a heigh ho ! 



He. So fresh and green is the sunny lea ; 

O heigh ho ! 
She. The fiddle twangeth so merrily ; 

O heigh ho ! 
He. So lightly goeth the lusty reel, 
She. And round we whirl like a spinning-wheel. 
Both. An* a heigh ho ! 



COME, FAIREST MAID. 115 

He. Thine eyes are bright like the sunny fiord ; 

O heigh ho ! 
She. And thine do flash like a viking's sword ; 

O heigh ho ! 
He. So lightly trippeth thy foot along ; 
She. The air is teeming with joyful song. 
Both. An' a heigh ho ! 

He. Then, fairest maid, while the woods are green, 

O heigh ho ! 
She. And thrushes sing the fresh leaves between, 

O heigh ho ! 
He. Come, let us dance in the gladsome day, 
She. Dance hate, and sorrow, and care away. 
Both. An' a heigh ho ! 



TELL ME, ILKA. 

He. Tell me, Ilka on the hill-top, 
While the Alpine breezes blow, 
Are thy golden locks as golden 
As they were a year ago ? 

(Yodle) Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho ! 

Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho ! Hohlio-oh ! 

She. Tell me, Hansel in the valley, 
While the merry cuckoos crow, 
Is thy bristly beard as bristly 
As it was a year ago ? 

Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho ! 

Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho ! Hohlio-ho ! 

He. Tell me, Ilka on the hill-top, 

While the crimson glaciers glow, 
Are thine eyes as blue and beaming 
As they were a year ago ? 
Both. Hohli-ohli, etc. 



TELL ME, ILKA. 117 

She. Hansel, Hansel in the valley, 
I will tell you, tell you true ; 
If mine eyes are blue and beaming, 
What is that, I pray, to you ? 
Both. Hohli-ohli, etc. 

He. Tell me, Ilka on the hill-top, 
While the blushing roses blow, 
Are thy lips as sweet for kissing 
As they were a year ago ? 
Both. Hohli-ohli, etc. 

She. Foolish Hansel in the valley, 
Foolish Hansel, tell me true, 
If my lips are sweet for kissing, 
What is that, I pray, to you ? 
Both. Hohli-ohli, etc. 

He. Tell me, Ilka on the hill-top, 
While the rivers seaward flow, 
Is thy heart as true and loving 
As it was a year ago ? 
Both. Hohli-ohli, etc. 



u8 TELL ME, ILKA. 

She. Dearest Hansel in the valley, 
I will tell you, tell you true : 
Yes, my heart is ever loving, 
True and loving unto you ! 
Both. Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho ! 

Hohli-ohli-ohli-ho ! Hohlio-oh! 



SONNETS. 



JUNO LUDOVISI. 



White, silent goddess, whose divine repose 
Shames the shrill ecstasies of later creeds, 
What might is in thy presence that it breeds 
This calm and deep delight that neither knows 
Regret for past nor fear of coming woes ! 
I feel thee like a stately monotone, 
Whose soundless waves against my spirit thrown 
Make strong and pure. I feel the joy that flows 
Like mild, unceasing rain upon my sense 
From Nature's myriad fountains. In my soul 
The lusty pagan wakes and roams the dense 
Arcadian shades, and hears the distant roll 
Of mingling echoes, — hears as in a dream 
The cymbal's clash, the wild bacchante's scream. 



122 JUNO LUDOVISL 



ii. 

Sublime the thought that dwells within this stone 

Imprisoned, yet immortal in its tomb. 

Where since the world emerged from Chaos' womb 

Was peace so sacred and so perfect known ? 

A spirit from some high ethereal zone, 

A spirit pure and passionless and free, 

Has flushed thy snowy immobility 

With an intenser life-blood than his own. 

In thy majestic womanhood more fair 

Thou art than all the weeping horde of saints 

Whom men invoke with incense and with prayer. 

I in thine ear benign would breathe my plaint ; 

Before thy tranquil eyes and in the shade 

Of thine eternal brow my sorrows fade. 



JUNO LUDOVISL 123 



ill. 

Come, gentle mother, and resume thy sway ! 
Lift up the mellow splendor of thine eyes. 
Awake the dumb and callous earth that lies 
Steeped in reluctant sleep. Send forth the gay 
Olympian throng that, vanquished, fled away 
When the pale King of Sorrows conquering came 
From out the East. Within thy mighty frame 
New life is kindling for a holier day. 
For hark ! Methinks within this gurgling stream 
The Naiad's silvery voice I faintly hear ; 
Among the leaves I catch the fleeting gleam 
Of white limbs vanishing ; yea, far and near 
Strange whispers haunt my sense, and tenderly 
The hamadryad's pulse beats in this tree. 



EVOLUTION. 



Broad were the bases of all being laid, 

On pillars sunk in the unfathomed deep 

Of universal void and primal sleep. 

Some mighty will, in sooth, there w T as that swayed 

The misty atoms which inhabited 

The barren, unillumined fields of space ; 

A breath, perchance, that whirled the mists apace, 

And shook the heavy indolence that weighed 

Upon the moveless vapors. Oh, what vast, 

Resounding undulations of effect 

Awoke that breath ! What dizzying aeons passed 

Ere yet a lichen patch the bare rock flecked ! 

Thus rolls with boom of elemental strife 

The ancestry e'en of the meanest life. 



EVOLUTION. 125 



II. 

I am the child of earth and air and sea ! 

My lullaby by hoarse Silurian storms 

Was chanted ; and through endless changing forms 

Of plant and bird and beast unceasingly 

The toiling ages wrought to fashion me. 

Lo, these large ancestors have left a breath 

Of their strong souls in mine, defying death 

And change. I grow and blossom as the tree, 

And ever feel deep-delving earthy roots 

Binding me daily to the common clay. 

But with its airy impulse upward shoots 

My life into the realms of light and day ; 

And thou, O Sea, stern mother of my soul, - 

Thy tempests sing in me, thy billows roll ! 



126 EVOLUTION, 



III. 

A sacred kinship I would not forego 

Binds me to all that breathes ; through endless 

strife 
The calm and deathless dignity of life 
Unites each bleeding victim to its foe. 
What life is in its essence, who doth know ? 
The iron chain that all creation girds, 
Encompassing myself and beasts and birds, 
Forges its bond unceasing from below, — 
From water, stone, and plant, e'en unto man. 
Within the rose a pulse that answered mine 
(Though hushed and silently its life-tide ran) 
I oft have felt ; but when with joy divine 
I hear the song-thrush warbling in my brain, 
I glory in this vast creation's chain. 



EVOLUTION, 127 



IV. 

I stood and gazed with wonder blent with awe 

Upon the giant foot-prints Nature left 

Of her primeval march in yonder cleft : 

A fern-leafs airy woof, a reptile's claw, 

In their eternal slumber there I saw 

In deftly-wrought sarcophagi of stone. 

What humid tempests, from rank forests blown, 

Whirled from its parent stem yon slender straw ? 

What scaly creature of a monstrous breed 

Bore yonder web-foot through the tepid tide ? 

Oh, what wide vistas thronged with mighty deed 

And mightier thought have here mine eyes decried ! 

Come, a fraternal grasp, thou hand of stone ! 

The flesh that once was thine is now mine own. 



128 EVOLUTION. 



v. 

Sublime is life, though in beginnings base 
At first enkindled. In this clod of mold 
Beats with faint spirit-pulse the heart of gold 
That warms the lily's cheek ; its silent grace 
Dwells unborn 'neath this sod. Fain would I trace 
The potent mystery which, like Midas' hand, 
Thrills the mean clay into refulgence grand ; 
For, gazing down the misty aisles of space 
And time, upon my sight vast visions throng 
Of the imperial destiny of man. 
The life that throbbed in plant and beast ere long 
Will break still wider orbits in its van, — 
A race of peace-robed conquerors and kings, 
Achieving evermore diviner things. 



TO BAYARD TAYLOR. 

(Dedication of a Biography of Goethe.) 

Unto those altitudes of thought where day 
Reigns e'er serene, where unrelenting law 
Guides circling worlds and growth of tiniest straw, 
Thou led'st with prescient step my doubting way. 
And from those radiant heights where naught could 

stay 
The daring eye, there burst upon my view, 
Uplooming 'gainst eternity's vast blue, 
The image of the mighty sage. The gray, 
Forgotten ages spread about his throne 
As if his lofty solitude to guard, 
And large, eternal voices — Nature's own — 
Spoke to the wakeful senses of her bard. 
Here have I traced the record of his fame ; 
Let me inscribe it, friend, with thy dear name. 



I.— THE SEA. 

Creator and destroyer, mighty sea ! 
That in thy still and solitary deep 
Dost at all being's base thy vigil keep, 

And nurturest serene and potently 

The slumbering roots of vast Creation's tree. 
The teeming swarms of life that swim and creep, 
But half aroused from the primordial sleep — 

All draw their evanescent breath from thee. 

The rock thou buildest, and the fleeting cloud ; 
Thy billows in eternal circuit rise 

Through Nature's veins, with gentle might endowed, 
Throbbing in beast and flower in sweet disguise ; 

In sounding currents roaming o'er the earth 

They speed th' alternate pulse of death and birth. 



II.— THE AIR. 

Invisible enchanter, sweet and strong, 

That crumbiest mountains in thy soft embrace, 
That rock'st the feathered seed through sunlit 
space 

And lull'st the sea with thy caressing song ; 

How lightly dost thou dance the waves among, 
And wingest them for flight of fitful grace, 
And in the cloud-rack's path which none can 
trace 

Dispersing cheer the parched earth along ! 

My voice thou bearest over dale and hill 

And spread'st in viewless billows near and far ; 

And with a subtler undulation still 

Thou tremblest with the light of farthest star, 

And boldest lightly, hovering on high, 

The bright phantasmal bridge from earth to sky. 



TO L-ILLIE. 



I SAT AND GAZED INTO THE BURNING 

SKY.* 

i. 
I sat and gazed into the burning sky 
Where, like a dying king, the parting day, 
In calm, majestic prescience of decay, 
Lighted his pyre that he a king might die. 
And I, whose thought upsoars on wider wings, 
Since thy pure soul has breathed into my life 
A quickened kinship with diviner things — ■ 
I builded there, remote from din and strife, 
A spacious solitude, where thou and I 
Might reign untroubled by the pace of time. 
How with thy fleetest wish the cloud would thrill, 
And, like some sweet, unmeditated rhyme, 
Bend with melodious impulse to thy will ! 
And I, strong in thy love, unquailingly 
Would greet the gaze of dread eternity. 



* The author is well aware that this poem is not a sonnet, but as he 
cannot change it without ruining it, he prefers to print it as it is. 



I SAW THE LILY PALE AND PERFECT 
GROW. 

ii. 

I saw the lily pale and perfect grow 
Amid its silent sisters in the mead. 
Methought within its chilly depth to read 
A maidenly severity, as though 
A cool young life lay slumbering in the snow 
Of its frail substance. In that chalice white 
Whose fairy texture shone against the light 
An unawakened pulse beat faint and slow. 
And I remembered, love, thy coy disdain, 
When thou my love for thee hadst first divined ; 
Thy proud, shy tenderness — too proud to feign 
That wilful blindness which is yet not blind. 
Then toward the sun thy lily-life I turned — 
With sudden splendor flushed its chalice burned. 



WITHIN THE ROSE I FOUND A TREM- 
BLING TEAR. 

in. 

Within the rose I found a trembling tear, 

Close curtained in a gloom of crimson night 

By tender petals from the outer light. 

I plucked the flower and held it to my ear, 

And thought within its fervid breast to hear 

A smothered heart-beat throbbing soft and low. 

I heard its busy life-blood gently flow, 

Now far away and now so strangely near. 

Ah, thought I, if these silent lips of flame 

Could be unsealed and fling upon the air 

Their woe, their passion, and in speech proclaim 

Their warm intoxication of despair ; — 

Then would I give the rose into thy hand ; 

Thou couldst its voice, beloved, not withstand. 



HOW CAN I LIGHTLY SPEAK THY WON- 
DROUS NAME. 



IV. 



How can I lightly speak thy wondrous name, 

Which breathes the airy fragrance of thyself, 

As might, far straying from his flower, the elf 

Hold yet a breath within his fragile frame 

Of the flower's soul, betraying whence he came ? 

I too, beloved, though we stray apart, 

Since in the vestal temple of thy heart 

I dwell secure, glow with a sacred flame. 

A breath of thy sweet self unto me clings — 

A wondrous voice, as of large unborn deeds, 

With deep resoundings through my being rings, 

And unto wider realms of vision leads. 

And dead to me are sorrow, doubt, and pain ; 

The slumbering god within me wakes again. 



AN ANXIOUS WHISPER STEALS UNTO 
MY EAR. 



An anxious whisper steals unto my ear, 

That thy young soul, so fresh and pure it be, 

Is alien unto mine ; that I in thee 

No resonance shall find for thoughts austere ; 

No glorious kinship in that loftier sphere 

Where spirits meet and recognize their own. 

And yet, beloved, from those depths unknown — 

Those slumbering depths of silence which I fear 

With my rude touch to stir — some shy sweet 

thought 
Comes upward trembling, like a coral bright, 
Which no bold eye its loveliness has taught, 
Through pale green waters flashing its warm light ! 
Yet, wert thou shallow, love, the heaven's wide 

sweep 
The shallow stream reflects, e'en as the deep. 



THY GRACIOUS FACE I GREET WITH 
GLAD SURPRISE. 

VI. 

Thy gracious face I greet with glad surprise 

With each new day ; and yet thou saidst a fear 

Oft nestled at thy heart when I was near, 

Because I loved thee only with mine eyes. 

Thou wert not skilled in lore, nor deep, nor wise, 

But thou wert strong to love and warm and true. 

What could I answer, love ? Alas, I knew 

I love too well, perhaps, the radiant guise 

Through which thy spirit breathes its loveliness. 

Yes, darling, yes, I love thee as thou art, — 

Thy coy surrender to my bold caress ; 

When folded in my arms, I feel thy heart 

Beat 'gainst my breast ; and when my lips meet 

thine 
Thy very soul is wedded unto mine. 



YES, MY OLD SELF IS DEAD ; AND IT IS 
WELL. 



VII. 



Yes, my old self is dead ; and it is well ; — 
I knew, as thou, he had no right to be ; 
And light his death was, for he knew not thee. 
And thrilling into life by some strange spell 
I stood new-born and wondering ; nor could tell 
Aught of what had been. Through a mist out- 
spread 
I saw the by-gone years lie cold and dead, 
And the bright future where with thee I dwell, 
A happy Delos rising from the sea. 
Dim seems my past and strange, and all the earth 
A pale and melancholy pageantry, 
Until the shining moment of thy birth. 
Thy life from out this age of toil and gloom 
Sprang, like a flower that blossoms on a tomb. 



IF I SHOULD LOSE THEE, DARLING, AND 
BEHOLD. 

VIII. 

If I should lose thee, darling, and behold 

No more thy pallid brow, thy gentle eyes, — 

This still unvanquished thought in wondrous guise 

Returns to haunt me. On a cloud of gold 

Amid the shining vastness of the spheres 

I saw thee standing, while with helpless tears 

I clung unto thy feet. The huge globe rolled 

With strident noises onward, and the bright 

And void, compassionless eternity 

Beat with its deepening vistas on my sight ; 

When, lo ! my hands wherewith I clung to thee 

Grew weak, and with a speed no eye could trace 

I sank through all the barren realms of space. 



I SAW THEE DRIFTING, DRIFTING FAR 
AWAY. 

IX. 

I saw thee drifting, drifting far away, 
And fading slowly on my famished eyes, 
Like as a star that in the sun-bathed skies 
Grows faint and flickers with unsteady ray ; 
Till 'mid the bright expanses of the day 
Its slender life is quenched. " Oh, thou art lost 
To me, and on this aimless whirlwind tossed 
My wandering soul forevermore will stray, 
Forever seeking thee, forevermore ! " 
Thus in the depth of my despair I cried, 
And echoes from some sounding planet bore' 
My voice, on trembling pinions, far and wide. 
Then desolation round about me spread, 
Until methought that God himself was dead. 



I WONDER OP^T WHY GOD, WHO IS SO 
GOOD. 

x. 

I wonder oft why God, who is so good, 
Has barred so close, so close the gates of death. 
I stand and listen with suspended breath 
While night and silence round about me brood, 
If then, perchance, some spirit-whisper would 
Grow audible and pierce my torpid sense. 
And oft I feel a presence, veiled, intense, 
That pulses softly through the solitude ; 
But as my soul leaps quivering to my ear 
To grasp the potent message, all takes flight, 
And from the fields and woods I only hear 
The murmurous chorus of the summer night. 
I am as one that's dead — yet in his gloom 
Feels faintly song of birds above his tomb. 



CALPURNIA. 



CALPURNIA. 



PRELUDE. 



Hot was the noon and heavy. A pitiless, quivering 
brightness 

Hung in the motionless air ; and o'er the abodes of 
the Caesars 

Broke the fierce breath of the sun from the fathom- 
less deeps of the heavens. 

Tiber, the ancient, had shrunk in his bed, and, with 
sluggish pulsations, 

Languished his tawny blood in his veins as he crept 
'neath the arches, — 

Crept 'neath the walls of the city of Mars to the 
happy Campagna. 

Gray was the grass on his banks, and the far-spread- 
ing crowns of the palm-trees 



148 CALPURNIA. 

Hung with a nerveless droop. Among the rank- 
growing rushes 

Stirred no murmuring breeze ; and, hid in the gloom 
of the ilex, 

Moped the voiceless birds. Beneath the arcades of 
the temples 

Brooded the spirit of silence ; around the sculptured 
altars 

Drowsed in the wide and tenantless space the heavy- 
eyed augurs, 

Waiting in vain for the worshippers' tread and the 
prayers of the faithful, 

Offering votive gifts on the shrines of the lofty Im- 
mortals. 

Lo ! without, on the Forum the stately facades and 
the columns 

Lifted their snowy shapes against the deep blue of 
the ether, 

Grave and placid, and pure, like the thought of a 
god of Olympus 

Swiftly congealed to stone in its large, primeval per- 
fection. 



CALPURNIA. 149 

Soundless and white was the noon ; and, under the 
resonant arches, 

Rose in trembling wavelets the air from the sun- 
smitten pavements, 

And a bright lizard, perchance, that noiselessly slid 
o'er the marble, 

Flashed his golden-brown throat, and a hound slunk 
by in the shadow, 

Sadly, with lolling tongue. Thus desolate, silent, 
and weary, 

Slept the great city at noon, the city of Mars and the 
Caesars. 



11. 



IN THE PALACE OF THE CESARS. 

High on the Palatine Hill, within the cool courts of 
his palace, 

Stretched on the tawny skin of a beast from the 
African jungles, 

Lay Maxentius Caesar, the scourge of the angry Im- 
mortals. 



150 CALPURNIA. 

Huge was his frame and seamed with the scars of 
manifold battles ; 

Rough-hewn his face and uncouth. A savage, bar- 
barian cunning 

Lurked in his keen black eyes 'neath the bulging 
wall of his forehead, 

Furrowed across with a blood-red streak from the 
rim of the helmet. 

Bearded, burly, and fierce, like the men from Teu- 
tonian forest : 

Such was Maxentius Caesar. In Diocletian's ab- 
sence, 

Held he the sceptre of Mars and ruled the realm of 
the Romans. 

Close to the Emperor's couch, where the whispering 
spray of the fountains 

Fell with its cooling breath from the tortuous horns 
of the Tritons, 

Stood, in posture of greeting, Ausonius Mycon, the 
praetor ; 

Tall and noble his growth, and his face was clear as 
Apollo's. 



CALPURNIA. 151 

" Wroth are the gods," quoth Caesar. " Great Jove 

from the high-vaulted heavens 
Thunders in cloudless space, but sends no rain to 

refresh us. 
Parched is the land, and the fruits of the earth are 

sapless and withered. 
Have I not harkened unto the voice of the priests 

and the augurs 
Spying dark omens and signs amid the firmament's 

arches — 
Bulls with flaming horns that dashed through the 

glittering star-world, 
Black- winged birds that filled with their screams the 

heavens at midnight ? 
And in the steaming entrails of sacrificial cattle 
Ill-boding signs have appeared. The maids of the 

virginal Vesta, 
Late at their shuddering watch by the sacred fire of 

the goddess, 
Thrice have swooned with dread, and terrible visions 

affright them. 
Wroth are the gods ; for they brook not the impious 

worship of Jesus 



152 CALPURNIA. 

Risen (they say) from the dead, — a Galilean impos- 
tor, — 

Brook not the presence of men who sleepless walk 
in the darkness, 

Plotting disaster and death to the city of Mars and 
the Caesars — 

Who, in the stillness of night, with horrid rites of 
the Orient 

Stain the fair face of the earth. The gods in their 
vengeance have wakened, 

And, at the games which to-morrow will gather the 
flower of the Romans 

Densely about the arena, the foes of the lofty Im- 
mortals 

Shall with the reeking dust of the earth which their 
feet have polluted 

Mingle their blood ; and Death's keen tooth shall 
sting through their entrails." 

Thus in wrath spoke Caesar ; Ausonius Mycon, the 

praetor, 
Lifted his mournful eye, but tamed his tongue, for 

he dared not 



CALPURNIA. 153 

Free the tumultuous thoughts which wrestled with 

might in his bosom. 
And as he wavering stood he beheld, 'mid the bloom- 
ing acacias 
Which close-clustering grew at the brimming marge 

of the fountains, 
Shyly a maiden approaching — a child of delicate 

stature. 
Summers twelve had she told ; like a bud-imprisoned 

blossom 
Struggled her virginal grace through the tender 

beauty of childhood. 
Pure was her brow, and her pallid cheek was wasted 

with weeping ; 
And in her eyes, where the gathering tears hung 

mute and appealing, 
Lay something strange and remote, like the glow of 

a deep inspiration. 
Wrapped was her slender form in a snowy garment 

that rippled 
Down to her sandaled feet, and shone with glittering 

brooches 



154 CALPURNIA. 

Artfully wrought into nodding doves that gleamed 
on her shoulders. 

Warily trod she with timorous step on the glittering 
pavement, 

Paused in fear at the shafts of the jasper and por- 
phyry columns, 

Then more boldly advanced through the perfumed 
twilight that lingered 

Under the marble arcades where reposed Maxentius 
Caesar. 

Wondering sore in his mind, Ausonius Mycon, the 
praetor, 

Gazed at the lily-white maid, and saw her tremble 
and shiver 

Like as a charmed bird that feels the eye of the ser- 
pent, 

Saw how her bosom shook with smothered sobs, as 
she prostrate 

Flung herself at the Emperor's feet. Then her voice 
she uplifted — 

Cried with a wild, sharp cry, as if wrung from a soul 
in despairing : 



I 



CALPURNIA. 155 

" Caesar Maxentius, hear me ! Oh, hear me, Max- 
entius Caesar ! 

Give me death at thy hand ! Oh, let me die, I im- 
plore thee ! 

Why has thou spared a life so worthless, so weak 
and unfaithful, 

When thou throw'st to the beasts my father, my 
mother — forgive me, 

Christ! and restore me my strength — my mother, 
my mother, 

To be thrown to the beasts in the sight of the blood- 
thirsty people ! 

I was weak. I denied my Lord ; but now I am 
stronger. 

Now I have strength to avow Him ; for hath He not 
said to the faithful : 

i He that loseth his life for My sake ' — yes, Lord, I 
will follow — 

Walk through the terrible portal of Death to Thy 
glory eternal — 

Walk with unflinching feet, though my flesh be weak 
and unwilling ! 



156 CALPURNIA. 

Take me, O Caesar, now; for now I am brave and 

intrepid ! 
Take me ere I grow weak and my heart within me 

unsteady ! " 

Thus she cried and wept, and the voice of her weep- 
ing resounded 

Wide through the marble halls ; while the whisper- 
ing waters descended 

Cool in showers of spray from the Naiad's cup, and 
the Satyrs, 

Poised on tiptoe in heedless delight 'mid the bloom- 
ing acacias, 

Scarcely felt the restraint of the stone which their 
joy made immortal. 

Silently listened Caesar ; then knit his brow in dis- 
pleasure ; — 

Laughed a menacing laugh which boded ill for the 
maiden. 

" Death thou demandest," quoth he, "and sav'st us 
the cost of the hunting ; 



I 



CALPURNIA. 157 

Foolish bird, that fliest unsought to the claws of the 

eagle ! 
Sooth, ere to-morrow's noon thou wilt nutter in vain 

in his talons. 
Take her, Ausonius Mycon, and see that her prayer 

be denied not." 
Thus he spoke, and the praetor, Ausonius Mycon, 

made answer : 
" Master," said he, " thy servant I am, and my law is 

thy bidding. 
Yet, if ever I merited praise for aught I have done 

thee, 
Give me this maid as my slave ; for choked are the 

prisons already 
With the disciples of Christ that will bleed in the 

Flavian arena 
For the delight of the people. The gods are com- 
passionate, Caesar, — 
Are not athirst for the blood of a pale and shy little 

maiden, 
Who, by affection beguiled and natural love of her 

kindred, 



158 CALPURNIA. 

Trod unthinking their path. My two Egyptian 
dancers, 

Graceful, endowed with a skill that passes all under- 
standing, 

These will I give thee if thou wilt deign to accept 
from thy servant 

What is already thine own." But, with a snort of 
impatience, 

Shouted Maxentius : " Take her, and send thy 
Egyptian dancers, 

Even to-day — dost thou hear ? — for languor oppresses 
me sorely." 

Stooping, the praetor uplifted the swooning form of 
the maiden 

From the hard touch of the stone, and bore her out 
of the palace, 

Through the exterior court, where brawled the dis- 
solute guardsmen, 

Playing at dice and tossing the clinking sesterce of 
silver 

On the mosaic floor, and sentries erect in the 
shadow 



CALPURNIA. 159 

Moveless stood 'neath the vaulted arcades, half- 
absently tracing 

Upward the arabesques gay whose bright and deli- 
cate tendrils, 

Like fleet voices of joy for a moment caught and ar- 
rested, 

Climbed in fanciful flight. But all unheeding the 
praetor 

Sped through the desolate streets and the resonant 
void of the Forum, 

While the faint rhythm of the maiden's heart that 
beat 'gainst his bosom 

Filled his soul with an unknown peace and with ten- 
der compassion. 

On the Quirinal Hill, not far from the Gardens of 
Sallust, 

Loudly he knocked at the gate and entered a high- 
ceiled dwelling ; 

Placed the maid on a couch, and thus he gently ad- 
dressed her : 

" Child, I see by thy garb that thou art free-born 
and gentle, 



160 CALPURNIA. 

Sprung of patrician race, perchance, for thy bearing 

is noble. 
Far be the thought from my heart to make thee a 

slave in my household. 
Rather my child shalt thou be, and my daughters 

will comfort and soothe thee, 
Till thy young soul shall rebound from its dark and 

morbid deflection 
Back to its natural poise of healthful enjoyment and 

gladness. 
But, till thy wound be healed, I ask no importunate 

question 
Touching thy birth and thy name, but bide my time 

till thou comest 
Like mine own child to my knee, and reposest con- 
fidence in me." 



in. 



IN THE FLAVIAN ARENA. 

Pale through the azure expanse of the sky the moon 

was ascending ; 
Like intangible snow its breath of silvery vapor 



CALPURNIA. 161 

Softly fell through the fields of the air o'er the slum- 
bering city. 

Then, with tremulous gleam, the stars burst forth, 
and Orion 

Shone with a frosty sheen, and a vague and lumi- 
nous shimmer 

Rained from the Milky Way. But pure, and 
ghostly, and solemn 

Rose the stately facade of the temple of Jupiter 
Stator ; 

Hushed and empty beneath, as if touched with a 
chilly remoteness, 

Lay the white square of the Forum, where loomed 
the Phocian column 

High in the moon-bathed stillness. The sculptured 
arch of Severus 

Glimmered palely amidst the temples of deified 
Caesars ; 

While, 'neath the brow of the Palatine Hill, the vast 
Coliseum 

Flung its mantle of gloom to hide the deeds of the 
darkness, 
ii 



1 62 CALPURNIA. 

Wrought on this terrible day for the joy of a barbar- 
ous people. 

Sheltered deep in the shade of those huge and cav- 
ernous portals 

Stood, close pressed to the stone, a little quivering 
maiden. 

Fearless she stood and with burning eyes through 
the iron-barred gate-way 

Gazed at the sated beasts that yawning drowsed in 
the shadow, — 

Drowsed or slunk with velveted tread o'er the star-lit 
arena ; 

Snuffing, perchance, as they went the mangled form 
of a martyr, 

Sightless, that stared with insensible orbs to the 
moon-flooded heavens. 

Trembling she stood, and hugged the rigid bars of 
the iron 

Close to her breast ; but her sense seemed dead, and 
feeling, she felt not. 

Silence brooded about her ; until at the mouth of 
the portal 



CALPURNIA. 163 

Sounded the clank of a lance upon the pavement of 

lava. 
Then she turned with a start, though she long had 

expected the signal, 
Saw 'gainst the brightness without three men ad- 
vancing to meet her — 
One a youth in the garb of the far-famed imperial 

legion, 
Rugged the others and clad in the humble attire of 

the freedmen. 
" Glaucus, I thank thee," so spoke in a shuddering 

whisper the maiden ; 
" Christ, who seeth in secret, this kindly deed will 

requite thee. 
Now unbar me the gate and bid these brethren 

await me 
Here, in the gloom of this arch, until I have rescued 

the bodies 
Safe from the fangs of the beasts, that piously we 

may commit them 
Unto the consecrate earth. My soul is constant and 

fearless, 



164 CALPURNIA. 

E'en though weak be the flesh. Perchance may the 

Lord hold me worthy 
Here to receive for the sake of His name the crown 

of the martyr ; 
Then return to our brethren, and bid them kneel at 

the altar 
Breathing a prayer for the soul of their sorrowful 

sister, Calpurnia." 
" Child, thou temptest the Lord/' the soldier Glau- 

cus made answer. 
" i Let the dead bury their dead/ for thus the Mas- 
ter hath spoken ; 
Wheresoever they rest, His hand, O sister, will 

reach them." 
"Glaucus," she said, "I am lonely, and yearn and 

weep for my mother. 
Lo, my poor life is a smoking flax and a reed that is 

bruised. 
Pray the good Jesus to quench the feeble spark of 

my being — 
He hath no work upon earth for one that was weak 

and denied Him." 



CALPURNIA. 165 

Heaving a sigh, the soldier undid the bolts and the 

barriers, 
And with unfaltering feet Calpurnia passed through 

the gate-way, 
Murmured the blessed name which protects from 

the powers of evil, 
Feeling a new-born strength that gushed through 

her veins and her fibres ; 
While with loud-beating heart the soldier gazed 

from the portal : 
" Ah, Christ Jesus defend her! Death's jaws are 

yawning before her ! 
Seest thou not the sleek beast that yonder lurks by 

the pillar, 
Crouching now for the leap ? — now leaping ? My 

vision forsakes me ! 
Heavenly Lord, where art thou that thus — but my 

sense is delirious — 
Brothers, support me ! Great God ! Unharmed 

she stands, and a halo 
Beams from her sorrowful face ! Now stoops she 

and tenderly gazes 



1 66 CALPURNIA. 

Into the sunken eyes of a saint. Oh, hie thee, sweet 
sister ! 

Dangers untold encompass thy path ! Behold how 
she raises 

Full to the moon the prostrate form, and kisses the 
pallid 

Lips of the dead. O brothers, make haste — why 
stand we inactive ? 

Quick, draw the bolts from the gate ! Oh, why do 
ye linger ? 

Hush ! How the air doth quake ! The roar of the 
Libyan lion 

Rolls with thunderous echoes around the empty 
arena. 

Darkness gathers about me ! The moon in the mist- 
flooded distance 

Loses her light and fades. The stars grow dim and 
unsteady. 

Hark ! from afar a faint shriek — a groan ! Ye an- 
gels, forsake her 

Not in her hour of need ! I tremble ! What see ye, 
my brethren ? 



CALPURNIA. 167 

Aid mine unfaithful eyes ! Do ye hear a choked 
supplication 

Rise through the stillness of night ? And footsteps 
methinks that draw nearer — 

Now retreating again ? What is that ? On the 
brink of perdition 

Totters my foot ! For behold, do ye see in the 
seat of the Caesars, 

Yonder, above the black arch, the shape of a toga- 
clad Roman ? 

Lost ! Just God, I am lost ! Do ye see how he 
stares unaverted, 

Fierce, at the void within, like a beast that is sated 
with murder ? 

He resembles, methinks, Ausonius Mycon, the 
praetor ! 

Lord, thou hast visited swiftly my sin and my weak- 
ness upon me ! 

Yet I shall tremble no more ! . I will tread where 
my Savior has trodden ! " 

Thus spake Glaucus, but ere his sad voice had ex- 
pired in the twilight, 



1 68 CALPURNIA. 

Saw he Calpurnia stand at the portal and beckoning 
to him. 

Pale she stood and erect, and her frame seemed frail 
and translucent, 

As if the light of the radiant soul were shimmering 
through it ; 

And at her feet, with withered lips and rigidly 
staring, 

Lay her beloved dead ; and Glaucus, forgetting his 
terror, 

Straightway unbarred the gate, that, grating, swung 
on its hinges,— 

Lifted the lifeless clay of the saints, and tenderly 
placed them 

Side by side on a bier, and hid their blood-sprinkled 
garments, 

Hid their gaping wounds, 'neath a shroud of pre- 
cious linen. 

Seizing the bier the freedmen emerged from th^ 
gloom of the portal ; 

Swiftly they moved through the night, and Calpur- 
nia followed behind them, 



I 



CALPURNIA. 169 

Down the Appian Way and on through the Porta 
Latina. 

Tearless and dumb she hurried away o'er the 
smooth- trodden pavement, 

Feeling scarcely the weight of her limbs, nor the 
touch of the lava — 

Feeling only a world of woe that throbbed in her 
bosom. 

" Ah, little maid, thy grief makes thee blind, and 
thy vigilant senses 

List to the tumult within and thy heart's tempestu- 
ous beating ; 

Dulled are thine ears to the muffled tread of san- 
daled footsteps — 

Footsteps whose shadowy sound awakens no treach- 
erous echo 

From the dim gates of the tombs, where sleep the 
mighty departed. 

Nor do thy fevered eyes descry in the gathering 
twilight 

Something that steals through the mist, now tarries 
a while at the way-side, 



i jo CALPURNIA. 

Then, with a peering gaze and noiselessly, hasteneth 

onward, 
Pausing when thou dost pause, and when thou ad- 

vancest, advancing." 



IV. 



IN THE CATACOMBS OF ST. CALIXTUS. 

Hushed from the depths of the earth, with a sweet, 

ethereal cadence, 
Came the soft strains of a song — a hymn of praise 

and of gladness : 
" Blessed," they sang, " are the dead who die in the 

Lord ; " and a youthful 
Voice, with the virginal dew of faith and childhood 

upon it, 
Rose through the sod and hovered aloft like a joy- 
winged seraph : 
" Blessed and holy is he that hath part in the first 

resurrection." 
Here, 'neath the boughs of a cypress copse, in the 

sheltering shadow 



CALPURNIA. 171 

(Dense and opaque, like a hoar-frost of darkness 

congealed on the tiny 
Spears of the vernal grass), Calpurnia paused, and 

the freedmen ; 
Then, with a wary hand, she knocked on a stone 

that was hidden 
Half in a jungle of roses that grew 'mid the roots of 

the cypress. 
" Christ is risen," she said ; and the answer came to 

the watchword : 
"Yea, He is risen, indeed ; " and lo ! the stone was 

uplifted 
Quickly by arms from beneath ; and straightway 

clearer and tenderer, 
Like a sweet face that is quickly revealed 'neath the 

veil that has hid it, 
Burst the glad chant from the womb of the earth 

and soared to the heavens : 
" Thou wilt show me the path of life ; behold in Thy 

presence, 
Lord, there is fulness of joy." A moment's glare of 
• the torches, 



172 CALPURNIA. 

Flaming red in the gloom, but ghostly and white in 
the moonlight ; 

Then a dull thud of the stone, as the martyred dead 
and the living 

Vanished beneath it. Now ceased the chant, and in 
reverent silence 

Bore they the saints to their rest through the long, 
subterranean chambers, 

Haunted by shadowy watchers, and reached the cave 
where the brethren 

Worshipped the Lord in prayer and song, while the 
white-haired bishop 

Spoke the words of life to strengthen the weak and 
the weary, 

Spoke to refresh the souls that drooping fell by the 
way-side. 

When Calpurnia saw his mild, compassionate vis- 
age, 

Forth she sprang, embracing his knees ; and as the 
smooth billow 

Dumbly swells till it breaks on the strand in melodi- 
ous ripples. 



CALPURNIA. 173 

Thus her imprisoned grief, that had mutely swelled 

in her bosom, 
Burst in a shower of tears at the goal of her perilous 

wandering. 
" Father," she cried, " the Lord hath turned His 

countenance from me ! 
Him I denied in my weakness, and now, in His 

wrath, He rejects me. 
Caesar I prayed for death, but he made me a slave. 

Oh, my father, 
Even the Libyan lion that lurks in the Flavian 

arena 
Harmed me not ; so vile I am, and the Lord will 

not take me ; 
Lo, I went in this night to save the clay that was 

precious 
Unto my heart from the impious hands of the base 

and ungodly. 
Here I have brought it to thee ; thou wilt bury my 

father and mother 
Here in the hallowed soil where sleep generations 

of martyrs." 



174 CALPURNIA. 

" Daughter," the patriarch answered, and murmured 
a soft benediction, 

Placing his hands on her throbbing brow and sooth- 
ing her gently, 

" Sooth, thou hast sinned in denying the Lord ; but 
the Savior is gracious ; 

He has forgiven thy sin, for hard was thy self-im- 
posed penance. 

Think not, child, that He has thrust thee away from 
His bosom ; 

If He withheld the martyr's crown in the bloody 
arena, 

He has desired thee to live and, living, to further 
His kingdom." 

" Oh, but my father," Calpurnia sobbed, "I am 
weak and unworthy ! 

What is the life of a maiden slave, that the Lord in 
His glory 

E'er should bethink Him of her, and the nickering 
flame of her being 

Shield with His mighty hands against the breath of 
destruction ? 



CALPURNIA. 175 

Father, oh pray that I die, for I am alone and am 
weary." 

" Child," the bishop replied, "two sparrows are sold 
for a farthing ; 

Yet falls not one to the ground without the will of 
Our Father. 

Wondrous, indeed, are the ways of the Lord, and 
even thy weakness 

He has preserved to work His will, though ob- 
scurely and blindly. 

Death hast thou sought, and thou weepest that mar- 
tyrdom is denied thee ; 

Life has its martyrs, my daughter, as brave, as 
strong, and as faithful, 

E'en as the martyrs of death. And thine is the work 
of confession, 

Not by thy blood, but by deeds of heroic meekness 
and patience. 

Deeds of forbearance and kindness 'mid unending 
toil and injustice — 

Deeds that calmly shall shine in the gloom which 
thy path shall encompass, 



176 CALPURNIA. 

Like the small flame of a lamp that unsteadily glim- 
mers and flickers 

Lone in the night, and showeth the gloom, though 
it cannot disperse it. 

Christ has withheld the fangs of the beasts from thy 
delicate body, 

Shielding thee, child, from the martyr's death, be- 
cause He will grant thee 

That which, my daughter, is harder to bear — the life 
of a martyr." 

Thus the patriarch spoke, and knelt in prayer at the 
altar 

Close at Calpurnia's side, and all the brethren assem- 
bled 

Bowed their heads in silence, and prayed for the 
souls of the martyrs 

Summoned to stand this night before the face of the 
Savior, 

Hearing the joyful words from His lips, " Ye blest 
of my Father, 

Enter ye into the kingdom ; " while in the dim light 
of the tapers 



CALPURNIA. 177 

Gleamed on the wall indistinctly, an outline mosaic 
of Jesus, 

Drawn as the Shepherd who bears the lamb that 
was lost on His shoulders. 

Deep was the stillness, save for the crackle, per- 
chance, of the torches, 

Save for the smothered sobs of a maiden bereaved, 
or a widow, 

Striving in vain to strangle her natural grief, and to 
follow 

Upward her loved one in thought to his blessed rest 
from his labors 

Safe in the kingdom of God. Then suddenly from 
the watchers 

Came a loud shriek of alarm, and, ere the brethren 
assembled 

Woke from the rapture of prayer, beheld they stand- 
ing among them — 

Toga-clad, tall, and erect — Ausonius Mycon, the 
praetor. 

" Stay, disciples of Christ ! " he cried, and his sword 
he uplifted. 
12 



178 CALPURNIA. 

" Fear me no more, for alas ! the strength of my 

arm — it is broken. 
Here is my sword," and he flung the blade at the 

feet of the bishop. 
" Wreak your vengeance upon me, for swordless 

stand I among you ; 
Red are my hands with the innocent blood of your 

fathers and daughters." 
Half re-assured, yet fearful, the brethren paused in 

the door-ways, 
Gazing over their shoulders w T ith glances of doubt 

and suspicion, 
While at the altar immovable stood the reverent 

bishop, 
Grave and serene and pale at his feet lay the maid- 
en Calpurnia. 
" Priest," the praetor resumed, " I know not the God 

whom thou servest ; 
Yet have I seen the strength He has given this pale 

little maiden; 
Wondering sore have I heard the words which 

through thee He hath spoken. 



CALPURNIA. 179 

Lo ! I have waged against Him a vain, ineffectual 
warfare, 

And by the deeds of this night I am utterly broken 
and conquered. 

Late in the watches nocturnal I rose, and the light 
mists of slumber 

Rubbed from mine eyes, and tracked this child 
through devious path-ways 

Unto the Flavian arena. I hoped, perchance, to 
discover 

Where in the womb of the night your hidden wor- 
ship eluded 

Ever my vigilant search. I had not resolved to be- 
tray you, 

But, by my knowledge armed, to keep you in bitter 
subjection. 

Ah, but this shy little maid has vanquished her 
valiant pursuer ! 

Now he is fain to fall at her feet, and beg her to 
lead him 

Unto that fountain of life whence spring such trust 
and devotion, 



180 CALPURNIA. 

Courage so high and serene in the face of death and 

of danger, 
Valor in frailty clad and strength thus wedded to 

weakness. 
Therefore, the God whom Calpurnia serves, O 

priest, I will worship ; 
I and my household will bend our knees, bringing 

gifts to His altars ; 
Thou wilt teach us the winged ways that lead to II is 

favor." 
Silently burned in haloes of mist the delicate 

tapers, 
Fell their pale sheen on faces upturned in prayerful 

rapture, 
Fell on the reverent priest as he on the brow of the 

maiden 
Rested his hands and blessed her, and spake in a 

tremulous whisper : 
" Daughter, behold ! 'tis the voice of the Lord hath 

given thee answer. 
Now thou knowest the worth of the life which He 

has protected, 



CALPURNIA. 183 

And at his side with solemn brow went Ausonius 

Mycon, 
Holding close to his breast the little maiden Cal- 

purnia, 
Who, from the terrible strain of the night and the 

wild agitation, 
Lay as if wrapt in a swoon, so deep and calm was 

her slumber. 
Angels with peace in their wings had gently 

breathed on her eyelids, 
Blown the foot-prints of care from the sweet, uncon- 
scious features, 
Till they relaxed again to their soft and infantine 

roundness, 
Touched by the strange remoteness of sleep that 

rested upon them. 
Gently the bishop clasped her listless hand, as he 

whispered, 
Solemnly : " Praetor, behold, of such is the kingdom 

of heaven. " 
Close to the edge of the cypress copse, where the 

flame-chaliced poppies 



184 CALPURNIA. 

Clustering grew, they watched the dawn as it dimly- 
awakened, 

Pale with tinges of rose that strayed o'er the crests 
of the mountains, 

Ere with its fiery blush it fringed the hovering cloud- 
lets, 

Darting radiant shafts of dewy light and of color 

Up 'mid the fleecy embankments of mist and of 
shivering vapors, — 

Opening deeps in the sky whence the night was 
slowly receding, 

Chilly vistas where lingered reluctant, cerulean 
shadows, 

Dark with a tint as of steel ; then elfin showers of 
sunlight 

Quivered upward in roseate hues and spread to the 
zenith, 

Till the gray west responsively flushed with a faint 
crimson pallor. 

Long the patriarch stood and gazed at the vanguard 
of morning. 



CALPURNIA. 185 

Touching the praetor, he said : " The kingdom of 

Christ is advancing 
Silently, brightly, and calmly, as marches the con- 
quering daylight. 
And to the hour of my death this glad conviction I 

cherish : 
Surely the Lord will scatter the gloom of the night, 

and triumphant 
Hurl the keen shafts of His truth into the shadows 

of error, 
Lift the light of His visage upon the dwellers in 

darkness. 
Mine the eyes that shall see this realm lie prostrate 

before Him." 






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